Gloves, loves and Amanda Lepore.

Trying to speak a new language is like trying on a glove you find in the gutter. The reluctance, the disgust, the potential comfort of a gooey new dialect all seem to be possibilities. Secretly you want to try it but you´re afraid you´ll contract something embarassing or maybe slip your hand inside only to find it fits, it´s warm, and you like it.

I´m practicing Spanish everyday. The lovely Piña is helping me a lot, when we´re not making out. It´s just frustrating because I know I sound like an idiot. It would be nice to be oblivious, but unfortunately it´s not my style. I´ve grown accustomed to sounding eloquent and anything less is compromise.

Aside from sounding intelligent, I miss my friends, red licorice, and Tim Horton´s coffee, whose marketing engine would be pleased to find is consistently nostalgiac among the few Canadians I meet. Not because it´s particularly good, only because it´s one of the few symbols we have left to cling to.

Machu Picchu has been moved to the middle of next week. Instead, here´s something completely different.