Sushi, Dead People, and My Wife

8 01 2013

So a while ago I mentioned that one of my long cons finally paid off for me. I fooled some nice young girl into marrying me. HAR HAR HAR WHAT A SUCKER. Luckily she has yet to realize that she got the short end of that deal. So lately I’ve been devising new ways to keep her in the dark about what a terrible situation she’s gotten herself into. The first of which was a trip to Maine for a sea side honeymoon. Which we did and since it was just such a good time I thought maybe I’d vomit forth into the internet a recounting of at least some of the places. Maybe next post’ll be one filled with tales of food and beer.

Though Hasbro has lately pointed out that I throw a lot of food onto Facebook. Not literally of course. That’s just rude.

So where to start? Oooooooo, our lodgings of course! It was a great inn by the sea. In fact, it was actually called  Inn by the Sea! And it was just that. An Inn. By the sea. It served coffee. By the sea. Called COFFEE BY THE SEA, MY GOD IT’S LIKE THEY’RE WORRIED YOU’LL MISS THE OCEAN!

*Eye twitches, falls out of chair*

Where was I? Right, the inn. I took a photo, you can see it! It’s a shot of the exterior from where we looked out from our massive two stories windows. Like honeymooning gods staring down upon all of the unworthy folk of earth. Or the other guests. Whatever. Look.

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I took a lot of pictures of places. And by a lot I mean a few. I grabbed shots of some of the more interesting points we came across. Now since I haven’t strayed too terribly far from the subject of the Inn I feel as though I should share with you the sea that it was by because, you know, its by it.

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The day we had arrived this stuff was calm. There was a brilliant blue sky and the foam was tame and lapped gently at the sand as opposed to the day that I took it. Which was the day immediately after Frankenstorm hit Maine. Naturally (because its water tee hee) the surf was kind of rough and the clouds hung in the sky like an angry gray marshmallow. Which I pronounce as marsh-MELLOW. In case you’re curious. And of course between the Inn and the Sea (which it was by did you know?) was a great little path through a lengthy stand of trees.

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You could bury bodies here! Not that I’d want to. Of course. Heh.

Uh, moving on. There were other places of interest that I capture in the soul stealing device modern man calls “camera”. Another of the highlights of the trip, at least for me, was the Portland Mead Works. Nestled high on the hill that is the city of Portland sits a modest building with a massive front that we drove past twice before stopping at a 7-11 to ask for directions. Interestingly enough two of the three employees there had no idea where or even what it was. Now what makes this particularly ironic is the fact that it is immediately next door.

I mean throw a rock like a middle school softball player and you’ll hit it no problem. Hell, my six-year-old could probably peg the building with a stone from the massive parking lot of the gas station. Because he’s a hoodlum. Ha! I’m just kidding. The parking lot wasn’t that big.

2012-10-29 13.10.37

If you look carefully you can see a supermodel standing next to a doofus with a beard taking a picture. HI INTERNET! That’s my soul!

Inside we met two fellows who seemed to be the only employees. I’m wondering if maybe they were the only two there that day? Or maybe they staff a lot of ghosts. The town is haunted as they come. Totally possible. According to a local ghost tour host it has been burned to the ground and rebuilt on three occasions. Not to mention shelled from the harbor. In fact, one of the churches in town still has a cannon ball in its chandelier from when it suffered a direct hit.

It didn’t cause damage it just caught the ball! Jesus DOES save!

Anyhow it was a cool place. The Mead Works not the church. Well maybe the church, we didn’t see it. But the Works? We took a tour of the facility, had a tasting of nearly every variety of mead that they sell there and then went for sushi. Another fantastic day in Portland which features several places to grab Japanese food. Made me a tad homesick to be honest.

2012-10-27 18.28.10

That picture right there? That’s a window display next to the door of one of our higher rated sushi spots in Portland proper. It nearly brings tears to the eye.   *Sniff*

Moving on. Grrrkk. Just, look over there, I’ve got something in my eye. *Sniff* No, YOU man up. *SOB*

You know what always cheers me up when I’m down? MUSICALLY INCLINED SEAFOOD!

2012-10-27 19.38.48

Oh those crazy singing sea creatures. They must know Ariel. That’s my only explanation. And I’m still manly. I have kids, I can make Disney references. COME AT ME!

Anyway. That building right there is a pub right next to a little park on a street that runs the length of the ocean front area of Portland. The park has an apparently retired buoy in it that every damn child nearby couldn’t help but ring as loud as possible. In the park is where we met a lovely group of people mostly from Portland as it turns out that had assembled for a ghost tour. It was the closing days of October so why wouldn’t you right? Plus my wife and I love ghosts and their stories so this was a mandatory thing to do.

We checked in with the tour guide who dubbed us “Upstate”. There was another couple from New York State that were city natives thus they were dubbed “Part of the city in which they lived.” I’ve obscured their name to protect their identities. And maybe because I can’t remember.

Now I know for sure that I took pictures of plenty of places around town that were stops on the tour. But for some reason the only photo I can find currently is this one.

2012-10-29 13.20.29

Yeah. It’s an alley. A HAUNTED ALLEY. According to the guide, in this particular alley, woman are said to be touched and interacted with but unseen presences. Naturally he made us walk through it while he ran around to the other side of the building using a different route. It’s okay he was fun. A goofy dude. Sort of reminded me of Sacco both in look and mannerism from that crazy witches blog over at stuffalsothings.

It was a good, nay it was a GREAT time. Portland, Maine is a place I love. The salty ocean air, the omnipresent feel of spray on the skin walking down the streets of half of the city, it all feels so proper. It’s a peaceful feeling, at least for me. We’re planning on going back and I cannot wait!





Scrawling a Bit of Fiction: However Many We’re on

5 01 2013

What say we start the new year with a touch of fiction, hmmmm? As usual the image below is not one that I dredged up. No, the people who slaved long and hard to bring you the following writing prompt are non other than the ladies over at ermiliablog.

They are in the business of jump starting the creative juices on a weekly basis and I think we all might be just a little better for it. At least a little. Probably more than a little. Hell, you know what? It’s fan-freaking-tastic. How about that?

But enough of that, lets get to this!

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It had only been an hour since Mickey died and things just weren’t going well. Here she was struggling to pick her limbs up, straining muscles in her neck and back. At least she thought she was. She couldn’t quite remember what strain felt like, her ghostly form being free from physical limitations.

Death stood beside her clicking his tongue.

“Stop it.” She said.

“Sorry.” The clock, clock, clock noise ceased at once allowing the hum of the forest to return to the foreground.

Mickey’s body had slumped forward and fallen, face first, into a pile of soggy leaves. Why was she out here again? What had she been doing?

“I’m really sorry about this.”

“Shut up.” Mickey didn’t even give him a glance.

Death rubbed his neck with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his scythe.

Mickey sat in her own lap again. The skin was solid allowing her incorporeal form no purchase on her insides. The comforting enclosure of flesh and bone and blood was gone. She glared at Death.

“This is all your fault.”

“I know. I said I was sorry.”

The two just stared at each other for a long moment until Mickey forgot what she had been so angry about. Why was she wearing a dress? She put her thumb to her lip and nibbled at the end. She couldn’t even bite her nail. It wasn’t there anymore, not really.

Death put his hand on her shoulder. He let the scythe dangle down at his side.

“You looked beautiful in that dress Mickey. I’m glad you wore it. It was my favorite. Very thoughtful of you. I only wish you could have made it a little further. See, I set a picnic basket up about a hundred yards from here. One hundred thirty seven to be exact. I really thought we had something great going on. Now you’re dead. I wish I could explain it.”

He gave her a gentle push on the small of her back. Instinctively she started walking. Who was this man? What was he talking about? Who was that girl laying on the ground?

“I’ve been looking for love for I can’t tell you how long. For some reason as soon as I start to get close to someone. And I mean really close to someone they…expire.”

They stopped passing trees. Or more accurately the trees ceased to be; melting away into a muddy mixture of earthy colors that puddled behind them. It was like the world had been submerged in a mud bath and she was looking in from the outside. All around her white empty space stretched out into infinity. It was calm. Warm.

“I think we were on the verge of something great Mickey. But I guess that doesn’t matter much anymore.”

Death repositioned himself in front of her wielding the scythe in both hands now.

“I’m so very sorry.” He said.

He hefted the scythe above his head.

“Find peace in this place, Mickey Edgerton. May you find whatever sort of paradise it is that you are expecting.”

He clenched the handles and brought it down. The edge was so fine that it cut reality itself as it passed through the air, allowing not even specks of dust or air opportunity to flee from the cutting edge that pierced the fabric of the universe.

“Wait.” Mickey whispered. Death’s supernatural reflexes paused the reaping tool inches from her throat. A flicker of recognition danced across her face and she frowned and knit her brow. She licked her lips before speaking again.

“Worst. Date. Ever.”





A Public Service Announcement From Your Local Press

13 10 2012

Ahoy!

I thought it worth mentioning that the Press will be fairly quiet at the end of the month. I will be leaving my base of operations here in New York. That final week of October will be spent traveling the roads to Maine where it will no doubt be even colder than it is here. For I have been married.

Yup. Married.

I know, it’s hard to believe right? But I did indeed trick some poor gullible girl into resolving to spend the rest of her natural life with me. Now that I’m thinking about it, I think I’ve detected a loophole.

Natural life.

Clearly she believes she can tough it out until she begins to take the inevitable life-extending drugs that will ultimately be made available by pharmaceutical corporations thus qualifying her as possessing an ‘unnatural life’ at which point she is free to depart the marriage without recourse to pursue other dreams at her leisure!

Oh ho ho, we are having a talk when I get home! Oh and as a side note – I’m not saying Berkeley and Jensen make bad products but honestly, when it comes to extending the life cycle of a human being through artificial means, don’t be afraid to spend a bit of money.

AT ANY RATE.

I am now a Mr. which, I suppose I always have been so that doesn’t change anything. But, I am a Mr. with a Ms. now. At the time of this posting it has been three days and so far, so good.

So I do apologize for the upcoming week away but I will be thinking of you all while I am away enjoying couples massages, museums, and some of the best damn seafood on the east coast.

Keeping it short and sweet today.

With love,

Kyllan Brindle.

 

Also, courtesy of Wikipedia – a lobster.

That is all.

 





Of Google Terms and Random Bits

6 10 2012

Prepare for possibly disjointed thoughts. I’m vomiting piles of words just ahead.

Every once in a while I like to sit down and take a look at my blog statistics. Not only is it great to see how the readership has grown, but it also makes for a good laugh. I’ve probably said it before but for you folks just tuning in, WordPress tracks a great deal of information for you including, most interestingly, the search terms used by people who arrived at your site.

There are some people I want to meet. From behind safety glass.

Like the guy (or gal, I’m not discriminating) that stumbled upon my blog while surfing the web for ‘big fat hairy girls with attitude’. What sir, or ma’am, were you doing? Personal ads? Porn that wasn’t mainstream?

And speaking of porn…

‘Housewife bondage.” Huh? I don’t know what to ask first. Why are you searching for this or, what have I written about that was close enough to that to bring you here? Maybe your other personality is blogging while you’re not looking. That jerk! That guy is annoying as heck and no matter how many times I change my password, he always guesses it!

How about ‘Serial Killer Porn?’ Well that one I can see. Not too long ago I added a post that did talk about serial killers. And pornography. In fact, I’m 100% sure I’ve never talked about the two in the same context. Okay, 60% sure. Look, it has to be at least half alright? I’m not that strange.

So what’s the take away from all this?

Never underestimate the ability for something to provide an alternative function to that which it was originally intended.

For me, Google is made for so much more than just searching the net. It entertains me as well. It does so much more than just find points of light in the vast darkness of the internet.

It tracks your traffic. It collects data to be used for more focused marketing. It pierces the veil that is your material body and BROWSES THE CONTENTS OF YOUR VERY SOUL. All from the comfort of their corporate couches in California.

Is there anything else I’ve learned? It’s made me realize that there are still strange people in the world somewhere. And they have internet connections. I guess it’s easier to stay connected in the sticks with satellite ISP’s.

I’m not ungrateful to have received their views. My only hope is that they will continue to drop by. Not because I have a deep, secret desire to become the go-to place for serial killers on the web. I appreciate the fodder; the extra bits for the blog-machine.

It’s a classic case of life giving you lemons. You have to take those lemons, drive to Wal-Mart for a ninja food processor, zip over to the liquor store for some vodka and make some lemon drop cocktails from it!





This Bird’ll Kill Ya

30 09 2012

So I bought a tomahawk.

I hear you pondering that one. Before you get too psychoanalytical over there allow me to offer a reason.

Why the hell not?

Yeah, you heard me. Why not? Don’t judge me internet; I know you have them too. I watch YouTube.

But seriously. Why not?

First of all, do you know what you find if you look up the word ‘cool’ in the dictionary? You will behold a bearded dude wearing nothing but a purple Italian Speedo. In one mighty outstretched hand will be some sort of an Apple product because he’s also hip and current with kids these days. He’ll say things like “lol” and “<3” in everyday conversation. (I heard <3 spoken in a dream once. It drove me to near Lovecraftian depths of insanity. In fact you might need to have a tentacle face to properly produce the sound.)

His beard will be glorious in the sense that a large bird could nest in it. Probably like an albatross or something. Is there a larger bird? Wait, is that a large bird? Must be. I think I saw one in a cartoon once. And yet, his beard will be soft enough that no one woman would ever be saddened by its existence.

And do you know what that modern example of near-Grecian magnificence would have in the other hand?

You guessed it.

THE FIERY, FROTHY GLOBE THAT IS THE INTERNET ITSELF.

And there would be a tomahawk on his belt.

So there. I bought one.

Honestly, I never owned a tomahawk so it’s one more thing that I can scratch off my bucket list. Obtain Close Combat Weapon. Check. So what will I do with it now? Learn to throw it of course. Yes, yes, I hear what some of you are saying and I’m telling you don’t worry about it. I’m not going on a disgruntled killing spree anytime soon.

There is a well abused adage in writing that goes something like “Write what you know.” Obviously this must include things you’ve researched. Not necessarily things you have firsthand experience with. If that were the case then we should probably start arresting nearly everyone who writes in the crime genre.

Does this mean I’m writing a story that involves a tomahawk-toting fiend or hero? No. But you better believe I will have more confidence writing about that sort of thing in the future if I decide that I want to. I can describe throwing a tomahawk in entirely different words having actually done it as opposed to having just read about it.

It’s like guns. Reading about shooting a gun in no way accurately conveys all the stimuli that are involved. The smell of gun smoke, the thundering of the powder igniting, the slight stunning sensation as your body absorbs the kickback. Totally different beast.

Experience is the thing here. In all things, be it writing or job-hunting or whatever. Experience is worth its hypothetical weight in gold. (For the record it’s hypothetically as heavy as a cow.)

And just think about it. I may gain some horrific, self-inflicted injuries to share with you all later!

High fives!





Aliens, Keira Knightley, and Ancient Weapons of War

8 09 2012

25 For 25 (eBook)

Aaaaand done.

So I finally knocked the last of the short stories in the collection off the “To Readificate” list. Now I know what you’re thinking.

“HOLY OXFORD ENGLISH ERRORS BATMAN!”

Relax. It’s okay, I’m just messing around. I know I left the second “o” off of “To. I has an English degree you know.

Anyways!

I have to preface my little blurb here by saying this is not for everyone. Obviously. No bit of writing is gleefully consumed by every single person who reads. Genre, themes, yadda, yadda, and also yadda, appeals to differently to different people. Different tastes. Different strokes. And that just opens a whole other can of Annelids, Nematodes, and Platyhelminthes. (You just got scienced!)

This is a science-fiction collection. Or sci-fi if that’s how you want to roll with it. Hell, SyFy if you’re trendy. That fact alone cuts the prospective pool of readers likely to read it by a bit. I don’t know why you wouldn’t read science-fiction but that is a tirade for another day.

On top of that, it’s sci-fi set in a game universe. I feel like there is a bias against these sorts of stories, a strange idea that because they take place in a video game setting its automatically sub par. There is no less value there my friend. It’s just doesn’t make sense especially since you could really make a game out of anything. (I feel it worthwhile to mention that it does sport a couple of video game titles but the franchise started as and will forever be a table top wargame)

Pride and Prejudice? Okay, maybe that wouldn’t be a title that makes it to the top of every gamers list but come one. It’s possible. Actually it strikes me as a game that would prove rather challenging.

Trying to choose the right witty comebacks during all the silly sister encounters, trying to build up relationship points with Mr Darcy so that you not only beat the game by marrying him, but also gather enough extra to unlock the surprise Donald Sutherland film outtakes!

I bet there would be a lot of Keira Knightley mo-cap. 

I’m sorry, that went somewhere strange.

Right so, summing up here.

  • Sci-Fi good. Read it.
  •  Books set in game universes are frequently just as good as anything else. Give it a chance.
  • Keira Knightley mo-cap. Meh.

So what about the stories?

I liked them. I am a big fan of the game, Warhammer. I play it myself so getting to learn a little more about the exploits of the some of the more heroic individuals was fun for me from a fan perspective. In addition the dark, gritty, gothic tone of the writing is right up my alley. Every once in a while the grim, often violent tales are an appreciated distraction.

Each piece spans a healthy variety of characters from the everyday man to the conscripted soldier. From children to the super-human protectors of mankind, the Space Marines. And even chaos, the classic villain of the universe gets to weigh in from its own perspective.

One thing that stood out to me was the strength of the human spirit, of hope in the face of adversity. There were stories of survival and stories that asked, just how far would you go? When was it too much? What would you be willing to sacrifice for the greater good of not only your friends and family, but your very species?

One of my biggest draws to the universe as a whole is humanity’s view of machines which has evolved to the point of possessing religious value. Machines no longer serve simply as tools to extend the capabilities of man but provide a focus of faith and the development of some really interesting plot arcs and characters.

The Cult of the Machine God, a priestly institution based on Mars, is one of the most interesting groups to appear in the stories. They remind me of the transhumanist and of the singularity that Ray Kurzweil talks about. LOVE THIS STUFF.

The stories are short enough to read a couple in a sitting but lengthy enough to allow characters to develop to the point of holding your interest while remaining at a constant pace. And, being true to a future where man is besieged on all sides by aliens and dark gods, it’s a fast pace.

All I am saaaaayinggggg, is give Sci-Fi a chaaaaance.





Cooking With Spam IV: A New Tin

9 07 2012

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. It seems I’m getting close to running out of Star Wars films and yet, like certain forms of antibiotic resistant bacterial infections, the spam just refuses to die! I suppose that must be part of its charm. If meat in a tin can be called charming.

I must admit before I get rolling into it like a pig in swaller, that for this installment I’m using some particularly bold bits of who-the-hell-knows-what-part-of-the-animal-that-is. As usual however, the spam is presented in it’s totally, 100% unedited, oddly formed glory. There will be spelling errors. There will be wonky grammar. My responses to such Tomfoolery is in Italics.

Now let’s Ital-lick this meat! No? Too much? 

Okay.

FastCas3 Writes,

Behold your site with frequency!

Yes, Behold it NOW!

I could not help but notice that there is an incredible lack of recipies here.

Well, typically I don’t write about cooking. I suppose I could start throwing something out there? I have a fantastic “recipie” for some “really special” brownies.

But I find that that way of presenting the facts is strange.

And now we go from the “Did my spam filter mess up?” pile to the odd meat folder where you belong!

Did you know that for instance there wil be new ways of publishing recipies in books this year?

Like different ink or something? Can I start using all this pig’s blood I’ve been stockpiling?

There has be money to be made in the future of this sort of publishing. Perhaps you should offer you’re sort of meat to them?

Now listen here buddy. I’m all for making money but I don’t think offering my “sort of meat” to strangers is the safest way to go about it.

And with some edit services from [supposed editing services url] you too can make good income from books right here!

Alright, listen. First of all, I think there is an error in that link. I just don’t see how “Real Live Girls” is going to help me properly edit anything. And secondly, I’m really starting to have my doubts at this point about how much you know about books or cooking or anything so I will say good day to you sir.

Stop bye and use the coupon coded [possibly fake coupon code] for instants savings discounted!

I said good day!

 

1CY23 writes,

There is something elegant here.

Wait, here? You must be a spambot.

I once read a poster in portugal, a very beautiful language.

Portuguese? Is it beautiful? I can’t think of what it sounds like. Wait. You were in Portugal reading it or did you mean the poster was in Portuguese?

I couldn’t not have tried better to say it myself.

Really? Wait, what?

It sold tickets to the most popular bull in town.

I’m trying really hard to understand here. I promise I am. So, where the tickets to go and see a bull like a side-show? Was it some sort of act?

There is an overwelming since of the spirit of sport there.

Please. For the love of grammar. What are you talking about?!

I can notice that very thing here.

What are you noticing? Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?

Keep up the good work.

Fine, sure. Whatever you say.

 

CrafT writes,

You!

Yes?

It’s so deep!

The depth at which you have brought this subject to is asounding!

It was a blog entry about spam. You’re commenting on one of my spam posts. Do you understand you’re about to be ON a spam post?

If only more hosts and bloggers felt this way we coluld bring about some change.

Honestly, sometimes you people exhaust me. And really, I think I’m writing what most bloggers are thinking when they peruse their spam boxes.

If you have anymoreadvice about sspreading the word do not hesitate to write more blogs about this very improtant topic!

Oh I’m pretty sure there will be more.

I can thank you enough.

Dude. Ouch.

Enjoy the day! Keep blogging!

Woah, you can’t follow an insult with a farewell. This is ridiculous! Just for that I’m NOT going to enjoy my day. Yeah, what do you think about that meat product? Hehe. I showed that guy.





The March East II

24 06 2012

I bought a book.

So as I mentioned before, there is a crazy guy that works here on the same crazy third shift I do. Which, if you work third shift yes, you are crazy. There’s no getting around it. Accept it.

Anyways.

Crazy guy says to me, “Buy this book it’s awesome”.

20120624-035150.jpg

So I did. This guy has his Japanese down, just like my father. And that was the whole point remember? Getting to engage my family in conversation.

I’ve only just started but, Cthulu willing, I’ll be performing my weekly demonic rights in another language!

Performing ritual animal sacrifice is probably a lot more fulfilling in languages other then English. I haven’t asked my local witch yet but, come on, think about it.

Thiiiink.





Boss

17 06 2012

One word. Small, to-the-point. But much like many other four letters words it holds a lot of weight. I have one of these, and it isn’t me as much as I might like to be my own.

Her name is Bertha.

At times she is calm, like a quaint reflecting pool built into the front courtyard of a mountain-side temple. And sometimes she rages around the office here tearing the ties from unsuspecting clerks while barking archaic profanities the likes of which might cause a nun to melt. In the bad sort of skin from bone way.

Her anger is a thing of legend. I heard once that she killed a man from a hundred paces with just a word and a glare. He had demanded time from her deadline stretched, managerial fingers. She turned to him and said, “You.”

That was the first face-melting ever reported.

But when she is feeling friendly there isn’t a more pleasant person in the world as long as you can look past the possibility that you too might one day find yourself lacking an epidermis. But as long as you do as you’re told and generally avoid being combative you shouldn’t have your skin sucked off like a thin candy coating on a human shaped treat.

In all honesty I like this lady. Hands down, of any boss I’ve had this is the best. Or is it least drunk? Actually I think it might be both. Either way, that is something that I can’t appreciate enough.

I recently received a modest elevation of status here. Nothing major mind you but enough to make me smile and quietly high-five myself. Which is totally normal. It’s just, I don’t think people really high-five around here.

I don’t see it anyways.

So this, you could say, is not so much a “Meet-” sort of post and more of a nod of appreciation, a thank you blasted off into the swirling, chaotic ether of the internet.

Keep being awesome, Boss Lady.





The March East I

2 06 2012

I’ve lost some roots I think. Well, maybe not lost but they’ve certainly grown further from me. I didn’t grow up where I live now. It was thousands of miles from here in fact. Not so far as say, the moon but most certainly not as close as New Jersey.

Here’s the short of it. I’m learning Japanese.

My father is fluent, the lousy old man. My sister? Fluent? At the very least, incredibly competent. Myself? None of the above. When we left Japan I was twelve. I had only just started to receive a more focused education in the language. But then we moved to New York.

That’s the state, not the city. And yes, there is a difference.

It’s cows. Lots of cows. (And graffiti. Down-state they do buildings not cows.)

But I digress.

In recent weeks I have encountered not one but two people who have raised the subject in conversation. One was a fellow who lived there for a few years, like I did. He encouraged me to continue the study, independently, formally – anyway at all. Long as I did. I took him seriously.

I looked into self teaching books and made purchases. I reasoned that such tools, coupled with my fluent family members I would indeed make excellent progress. I have yet to begin as of this post’s publication. Due only to the speed by which the mail travels.

There are a lot of things that I miss about my home country and as much as I’d like to be able to move back, take a trip back, anything, it isn’t in the cards right now. So I’ll just stick to learning the language that I always expected I would. (The sudden absence of any teachers here caught me entirely off-guard. The things you don’t think about when you’re young.)

Hindsight forced me to acknowledge the fact that I hadn’t taken every opportunity to experience what was around me. Don’t get me wrong, my family and I experienced the hell out of that country. But there were programs that my sister was involved in that I never even considered that really amounted to me not seizing every single bit of what was a fantastic childhood abroad.

It was still the greatest I ever could have hoped for. This is me reclaiming lost opportunities.

It’s one step closer to home I should say.

The first of many.