Generally, I could care less if France burns itself down into crispy pommes frittes. At one of the first (e:strip) functions I attended, (e:paul) and I were chatting and I said to him, in my staunch and defiant way, "I'LL NEVER VISIT EUROPE!!" (e:paul) doesn't know it, but he disarmed me in a rare way that took me by surprise when he asked me his next question.

(e:paul) looked at me quizzically and asked me, "Why wouldn't you?"

It wasn't the question itself, but the way in which he asked it that struck me into considering why exactly it was that I generally despised most of the continental European countries. In the twinkling of an eye, the question made me scrunch my eyebrows, bite my lip and look to the left in consideration over whether or not my previous misgivings were fair, or even rational. After all, on an individual level we all are curious about one another when we visit other countries in the most endearing and human way. Why should I come down in judgment on an entire country, or even a continent, because I felt that their politics were completely backward? When you talk to somebody on the streets of a foreign city, the conversations are rarely about politics - the conversations are usually of the variety that impose a certain feeling of innocence and interest that most of us haven't felt since we were children.

In my own stubborn way, I insisted that my boycott of the French would continue, but I also decided that there would come a day where I would visit Germany and of course, England. England is the home of one of my favorite sports, and is also the home of my favorite club, Chelsea FC. Germany is a beautiful country that gave birth to the likes of Richard Strauss, Richard Wagner, the great Bach and the even greater Oktoberfest - how could it be bad? Its strange, but when I think of Germany I think of blue water, mountains and Wagner - sort of a like a Ricola commercial that was stripped of its cheesy, campy, slightly insulting veneer so it could be made to be more authentic.

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Ok instead of writing a narrative I'll talk like myself now!

I just finished reading Salinger's Nine Stories for the first time, and now I've purchased a collection of short stories by Ernest Hemingway. I think next I'll be reading Faulkner, followed by John Updike and Flannery O'Connor.

While doing some research to determine what I was going to buy, I was completely surprised by the comments that some apparent feminists were leaving about Mr. Hemingway. Okay, so his characters are "manly men" who like to hunt big game and do "guy things." How on earth is this a cardinal sin? Listen, as part of my "education" in English electables that I took for fun and to complete a minor, I had to read things that were FAR more self-absorbed and obscene. Take for instance, Naked Lunch. I flat out told my professor at the time that I wasn't going to finish the book - for a supposedly brilliant writer I was startled at how William Burroughs managed to fool everybody with this heroin and benezdrine fueled pile of dogshit.

I was also introduced to a wave of feminist literature, such as Kinflicks and Fear Of Flying. These books were barely tolerable, not because of their subject matter, but because the efforts were so forced and felt so unnatural that I wondered to myself, "do women really need feminist literature to come to an understanding of who they are as women?"

Anyway, back to Hemingway. Ernest Hemingway is one of the greatest Americans to have ever written. To somehow try to downplay his significance or contribution to literature by casting judgment on him through some kind of contrived modern context is laughably silly. And it doesn't make Erica Jong any better of a writer either.

Today I accompanied my father to his Lasik surgery in Niagara Falls, Canada. I even got to watch it, which I have to admit was interesting. Both eyes only took about 10-15 minutes, and they have a monitor hanging up in the room so you can watch all the good stuff up and close.

Not being regularly privy to the proceedings in the surgery room, I can only assume that "regular" surgery is far more gruesome, but its strange to watch you're fathers eyeballs on a 25" screen being held back by clamps and tape, while they continually prod and apply anesthetic eye drops as the laser does its work.

Quote of the day from the doctor's assistant (who I am attracted to, but I'll explain more in a second) - "You won't be able to feel the laser, but you'll be able to smell it." Yeah, she's talking about the smell of burning eyeball.

This office possibly had the most attractive women per square inch of any doctors office outside of a plastic surgery center. Beautiful girls - is it wrong to hit on or flirt with your dad's doctors? I say, hell no. Not that I would actually say this, but the thought in my head at the time was, "I think you're beautiful and I want to kiss you." As far as I'm concerned thats a better pickup line than "call me Fred Flintstone cuz I'm gonna make your bed rock." Too bad I'm shy.

I had about 2 hours to kill, so I went to the supermarket nearby and got some couscous salad, juice and some Chinese pears and Fuji apples - the pears were white, had texture like an apple and had virtually no flavor. While I waited for my dad's prescriptions after his surgery, I took my blood pressure... and I have to admit that I was shocked. 191 over 119, pulse 79. I really, really need to stop drinking redeyes from SPoT and get back on my diuretic. I must have among the worst blood pressures for somebody of my age and health - I have lost about 15 lbs. of my "travel weight" over the past 4 months or so, but I still have a little bit to go, and my diet isn't exactly the best out there at times. I need to find a good organic decaf coffee that I can live with.

EDIT: I had to add a third for you - seriously, I feel like I'm looking at two blonde-colored Q-Tips. I'm the one playing with his "thing".

One of my co-workers who lives in Miami is getting married to a girl he met in Nicaragua - they've only been dating for less than a year. I'm happy for him... I was invited to his wedding but I have Sabres tickets for the day before and I'll not be able to make it in time.

The interesting thing is that she speaks no English and hadn't seen snow before in her life before she came to Buffalo. I've been bringing her back and forth from my boss' house in Clarence when I come to work, and my co-worker asked me to speak English to her to help her learn. So.... what did I do?

Conservative talk radio. Sooner or later she's going to ask Julio, "como se dice 'tax and spend liberal' en espanol?" Or possibly, "como se dice 'dittohead' en espanol?" Or maybe, "como se dice 'defeatocrat' en espanol?"

I like driving around the area on warm, sunny days with my iPod, my aviators and a big fat joint.

I like grilling for my friends.

I like hanging out on my porch and watching the people, then wondering "where were all these hot girls when the snow was out?"

I like cruising the aisles at the Co-Op.

I used to like walking to Lexington to go to the Co-Op, but now I like walking to Lexington to get Kuni's.

I like to inject people with optimism when it seems like there is none.

I like classic rock - it hasn't been the same since.

I like trying to cook a completely new recipe, even if it turns out like an F minus.

I like arguing with people with whom I have disagreements - this is fairly obvious.

I like sticking up for people when nobody seemingly will.

I like to drink coffee and watch football (in the global sense) during the weekend.

I like getting up early on nice days to sit on my porch and read the paper or a new book.

I like politics, although if you think about it too

I like meeting new people and trying to figure out what makes them tick.

I like sex WAY too much for somebody who is practically celibate.

I like shopping for stuff online.

I like nostalgia.

I like speaking my mind.

I like looking at pictures from my travels, but I miss certain places so bad it hurts.

I like our nation a great deal, although by no means is it perfect.

I like blunt honesty.

I like reading short fiction and Kerouac.

I like the art festivals, especially the one directly in front of my house every year.

I like sleeping in.

I like to be mischievous.

I like the idiosyncracies of the neighborhood I live in - I know all the merchants and they know me, plus my neighbors are generally cool, thoughtful people.

I like playing my guitar, although my abilities are limited due to the fact that I haven't practiced seriously in 8 years. So I just strum along, make stuff up and enjoy myself.

I like taking my grandma out for lunch, just me and her.

I like to help people, which is why I keep my job and believe in the philosophy of the industry despite the obscenely low pay.

I like autumn the most of all seasons.

I like visiting my grandpa's grave and talking to him, although I can only hope that he's listening to me somewhere.

I like the fact that I'll miss Buffalo whenever I leave - this place has heart and has imprinted itself on me permanently.

I like laughing and making people laugh.

I like drinking with strangers at airport bars - the truth is that you never know who you'll run into in an airport bar.

I like hanging out with old friends in far away cities.

I like saying thank you, holding doors open and being polite - I'm old school like that.

I like barbecue sauce - A LOT.

EDIT: I almost forgot - I like my brother!