I used to think that I was born in the wrong century. In my overly glamorized image of myself, I was meant to walk among the bear and deer, and to pull salmon from a cold clear stream with my bare hands. With a piece of parchment and a stick of charcoal I would have chronicled my time in the wild west, and complained of the lack of a good medium. Over a steaming cup of chicory, wrapped in some animal's dried skin to ward off the bitter cold, I would have basked in the peaceful "aloneness" of it all...

In my heart I know that I didn't belong in any time prior to the invention of forced-air gas heat. Also conspicuously absent from the old west was a decent pair of running shoes, ill fitting or otherwise. In light of these and so many other modern conveniences that I could not live without, I think that I simply live on the wrong continent. If I lived on the beach in Mexico, I could enjoy the spirit of the old west.

I could wade in the warm Caribbean waters among the pelicans and sand crabs, and eat beans with my bare hands. I would have the Internet to chronicle my time in paradise, and all of the same things I currently complain about could still occupy my time. I would bask in the sun and enjoy a sort of peaceful "aloneness" because I don't speak Spanish. I could politely ward off any intruders in my midst with a simple ",No se," or ",Yo soy gringo," In case it wasn't already obvious.

Of course, with my luck I would hear more like:

-Hola senor.
Hi, sorry, I'm a gringo and therefore I don't understand.
-?Por que necesitan adsense?
What? You said something about adsense right?
-?Que dice usted?
What?
-?Como?
Huh?
-?Huh?
Wait, where are you going?
-!Oh mi dios! !Gringo!
Wait...come back.....Shano..please come back.

.Adios muchachos.