Talk About a Pickle

Sorry if you have heard me say this before, because I say it a lot, but people from different cultures strike me as having more in common than they have differences. Some people are really great, some people are terrible, but most of us are just kind of fine. For me the thing that separates the States from the rest of the world is not so much our great or terrible people, but that we put pickles in pickle places and cucumbers in cucumber places. It is, perhaps, our nation’s greatest collective ability. In the rest of the world you may find a cucumber on a burger or somewhere equally as strange.

Hey everyone else in the world, I respect what makes you you and I appreciate when you extend the same sentiment my way. I am not criticizing your choices, I am simply pointing out that cucumbers are not pickles and you will never convince me otherwise. Certainly you have tasted pickles on a hamburger. Did you run out of pickles? Are you trying to trick me? 

Remember when you were a kid and you ate at your friend’s house and it tasted okay but a little bit off from how it was supposed to? Yeah, someone switched the cucumbers and pickles.

Let’s see what’s down this road.

One of my great uncles once told me that a person who speaks three languages is called trilingual, someone who speaks two languages is called bilingual, and someone who speaks one language is called an American.

It doesn’t matter how comfortable your bed is because it’s so much better than the plane.

Sometimes I want to take and post pictures with strangers who look like people I know back home. I would be like: here I am with Ukrainian Harrison, or: hey look It’s me and Dutch Laura. I do not do this of course because my friends might want to return the favor, and I don’t want to send them over to dudes who look like me. Me-looking guys are kind of scary, right?

For those of you who are keeping score at home, here are two items of interest. Catherine has gone back to the States, so Team Pom Pom is officially on hiatus. Without her, we are just three jerks. With her, we are four. The other thing is: I am still walking around with my fake wallet. No one wants to rob me for some reason. Maybe at our core we really are good.

Maybe I look like I would beat the fuck out of someone who tried to rob me.

I am in the market for some souvenirs. In particular I would like to bring back a treat for my pals Joanna and Abigail. If either of you are reading this, let me apologize right now for whatever stupid trinket I eventually bring you. What I am looking for is: a cat on a lyra that says Asia for Jo. For Abigail I would like to find one of those buttons that, if you push it, someone dies and you get a million dollars.  

The search continues.