With polite apologies to my vegetarian friends who will grind their teeth at me about this: the meat of a semi-wild animal, slaughtered and cooked right in front of me, is quite possibly the best thing, probably ever, anywhere at all on earth. Or anywhere fucking else. (I’ll include trigger warnings on posts, okay?)
The iPhone reports inaccurate GPS coordinates to apps when it lacks a solid lock to a cell tower, so, no, I won’t be geocaching, and no, those pictures I took won’t serve as an accurate record of my path through Mongolia – wah wah! (Fuck you, Apple! I know it’s my own damn fault for not confirming that in advance, but fuck you anyway!)
I possess an unhealthy appreciation for flavored soju, especially grape, and yes I can still get that drunk!
I can have a shockingly profound effect upon another person’s life just by being who my mother raised me to be. (Thanks, mom!)
I can lose something really really important without knowing it, something that I’ll never be able to replace, and not even realize it for over a week past the point when I could have possibly done… well, really, nothing at all about it in the first place. But, fuck!
And I was either suffering from a severe brain hemorrhage, or had temporarily gone completely insane, when I ever imagined, even for a moment, that I would find any time during this adventure either to begin a new exercise routine, or to sit in front of an iPad and try to record any of these experiences in realtime. It turns out learning all of these wonderful and terrible things (oh, and so much more!) would take up substantial time and energy all by itself. Who would have figured? Oh. Oh, every single one of you? I see. Well, okay.
As I write this, I have been back in California for less than 72 hours. By the time I had been back for six hours, I was ready to leave again. I understand the notion that there is a moment during every great vacation when you want to move there. Yes, I’ve seen 30 Rock, too! You are not Alec Baldwin (unless, somehow, you actually are Alec Baldwin, in which case: holy shit, hey man!), and this is not Cleveland. And I am not saying that I actually want to move to Mongolia: double digit degrees below zero does not my cup of tea boil. Or freeze, for that matter. I’m just saying… if George Cory and Douglass Cross had ever visited the glorious Mongolian countryside, I would not currently be sitting in the city where Tony Bennett left his heart so many times; our hearts would be in the same place together. No doubt.
With sincere thanks to everyone who continues to press me to keep my head out of my ass and actually do this… please stay tuned for more.