Day 1

Hey all! Sorry for the lapse in time since my last post!

(This post may be a bit longer than usual, since lots of new shit has come to light in the last day and a half. So hang in there!)

Well, let me start by saying that I´m here, and I´m safe.

Yesterday could not have gone any smoother. My flight from Newark left on time--as did my connecting flight from Atlanta--and I landed in Costa Rica around 11:50 AM. My baggage came out fairly quickly, and I made it through immigration and customs without a problem. (I was tempted to start practicing my Spanish right away, but I decided that the immigration and customs officials probably weren´t the best people in town to have my first misunderstandings with.)

Next, I decided to change some money. This part of my life is called "Making it rain:"

I handed the lady at the currency exchange booth $300 USD, and she handed me back $145,000 Costa Rican Colones (CRC). That´s how I roll.

After changing my money, I walked directly outside the airport and found a man holding a sign with my name on it. I followed him to his car, threw my bag in the back, and off we went.

Rrrrrricardo spoke English very well, but for the majority of the ride to my new home we spoke in Spanish. After the first few minutes I felt comfortable making a fool out of myself in front of Ricardo, and the ride was actually a great warm-up. I did surprisingly well.

Forty minutes later, we arrived. When I got out of the car, Ricardo honked the horn to let whoever was inside the house know I was there, and he was off. Then I stood there as the door slowly opened...

My new mother, Denise, was very warm. For the first hour or so, we sat on the couch and chatted--in Spanish, of course. Denise explained that her son, Sebastian, plays basketball, and that her husband, Kristian, was at Sebastian´s game with the two little girls. Then she walked over to the refridgerator, and we finished our conversation over a few ice cold beers.

Old Milwaukee. Self-dubbed, ¨America´s best tasting beer.¨

As I surveyed the house, I noticed that there was a picture on the wall of the New York skyline. When I asked her about the picture, she explained that her husband LOVES New York City. I proceeded to show her the New York Jets hat and New York Red Bulls shirt that I brought for him, and she told me he´d go crazy when he saw them.

The rest of the family arrived home around five o`clock. The first through the door was Mariana, followed by her twin sister, Sofia. In typical five year old fashion, they took one step inside, saw me standing there, then giggled and ran right back out of the house. The next one through the door was my new twelve year old brother, Sebastian. He smiled and said, "Hola."

Then, in came the man of the house. He threw his arms open wide and said, "Bienvenidos a mi casa!" Welcome to my home!

The gifts were a big hit. Denise loved the lotions. "Que rico!" she said. How rich!

Kristian raved about New York, the little girls immediately began applying the lick-on tatoos, and Sebastian and I went outside to toss around the American football.

At 7 o`clock we ate dinner. It was arroz con pollo, a typical Costa Rican dish, with a side of refried beans and potato chips. Absolutely delicious. After we dinner went into the living room. Mariana and Sofia sang "Head, shoulders, knees and toes" for me (I`ll be posting it to YouTube as soon as it´s transferred.) Then we sat on the couch and watched Tim Burton´s Alice in Wonderland. En Espanol.

I didn´t understand a god damn thing, but for most of the time I was just watching Sebastian, who was sitting on the floor with the football in his lap, and the Yankees hat on his head.

Before going to sleep, Denise pulled me aside and layed down some rules, again in Spanish (no one in the family speaks much English):

¨Laundry is on Tuesdays. If you need something washed, give it to me on Tuesday. Here are your keys. This one is to your room. You can lock it if you like. This one is to the safe in your closet (it´s more like a cardboard box). And this one is to the house. You may come and go as you please. Dinner is at seven o`clock. You don´t have to eat with us every night, but if you are not going to be home for dinner, please let me know. If you are going to be late for dinner, please let me know. And if you are going to go out with your friends from the school, and you will be coming home very late, please let me know."

Then, running on two hours of sleep, I turned in for bed.

It really was an amazing day. Denise, Kristian, and their three children are more than I could have hoped for in a host family, and I went to sleep last night truly grateful that I made the decision to come.

Liftoff

Wow.

It's finally here.

Truth be told, months ago, when this trip was just a twinkle in my eye, I had serious doubts as to whether or not I'd actually have the balls to go through with it. I mean, I knew it looked good on paper. But lord only knows that following through with ideas is not exactly my strong suit. (See: Brandon's decision to attend law school in 2005; Brandon's decision to attend medical school in 2006.)

Well, the time has come. And, as difficult as this is--as uncharacteristic as this may be--I've made a decision:

I'm doin' it.

I'm keepin' my baby.

It's nearly 3:00 AM, on Sunday, May 30, 2010, and Brandon J. Isaacson has gone into labor.

My flight leaves from Newark International Airport at 6:15 AM EST and, after a short layover in Hotlanta, Georgia, I'm scheduled to arrive in San Jose, Costa Rica at 11:50 AM local time (1:50 PM New York time.) From there, supposedly there'll be some dude waiting outside the airport, holding a sign with my name on it, ready to take me to my new home. (Or, ready to make me his little gringo bitch.)

It'll probably take a day or so to get acclimated, but I'm fairly sure I'll have internet access tomorrow afternoon, after my first day of classes.

Class is Monday through Friday, from 8:30 AM to 12:30 PM, for the first three weeks of my trip, and it'll be my goal to post new messages early each afternoon.

I'd like to thank everyone for the support they've shown thus far, and I'm looking forward to keeping in touch.

Catch you on the flip side.

Tropical storm

Last night, I opened up a fortune cookie that said, "A calm sea does not make a skilled sailor."

Well, if the roughness of the sea dictates the skill level of the sailor, then you can call me Magellan!

After finishing work on Wednesday, the last three days have been a whirlwind for me. I've been running around, trying to collect all those last minute essentials, and making sure to spend some quality time with my family and friends. With my motor running full blast, I really haven't had much time to mentally prepare myself for the trip. Nonetheless, I feel surprisingly comfortable in this state of semi-organized chaos. It's a familiar place. (In my normal daily life, I can't even walk from my bedroom to the bathroom without feeling like I'm forgetting something.)

The bottom line is that anything I forget to pack, I can buy while I'm there, and anything I pack too much of I can either send home, or donate to Gerry's Kids (Geraldo's Kids?) in Costa Rica.

So, here's a (very) rough snapshot of what I'm packing:

4 t-shirts (1 long-sleeve)
2 polo shirts
1 button-down shirt
3 pairs of shorts (1 mesh for running)
2 pairs of pants
1 bathing suit
3 pairs of underwear (so I can shit myself twice a day and still sleep well at night)
5 pairs of socks (toilet paper in a pinch)
1 pair of sneakers
1 pair of sandals
1 pair of flip-flops (for grimy hostel showers)
1 butt plug (for Latin American prisons)
1 bag of assorted toiletries
1 box of sombreros (see post from Thursday, May 20th.)
1 first Aid Kit
1 flashlight
2 combination locks
1 Swiss Army Knife
1 compact umbrella
1 digital camera

...and a bunch of other crap.

I'm hoping to come back ten pounds--and a box of sombreros--lighter.

Anyway, my flight departs at 6:15 tomorrow morning. Tick, tock, tick, tock. I'm off to take care of all those last minute whatnots. But I'll be sure to stop in tomorrow (at some ungodly hour) to make my last post this side of the Mason-Dixon line.

Hasta manana!

Meal ticket

The following is a detailed set of instructions on how to receive free meals at low, to moderately priced dining establishments:

1) Plan a trip abroad for an extended period of time

2) Tell all your closest friends and family about the trip

3) Set up a bunch of 'goodbye' meals with said friends and family

I'm serious, guys. It works.

On Tuesday afternoon, Dave refused to let me pay for lunch. It was the same story with Vince yesterday afternoon, and with Allison, Dan, Jamie, and Christine yesterday evening. (Disclaimer: The above stated individuals are not necessarily a full and exhaustive list of people who have paid for my meals in the past. If I left you out, please accept my apologies.)

All of this generosity has been greatly appreciated, and it really just reinforces what I already knew--that I have a damn good group of friends. But, nevertheless, I do feel a bit guilty. (After all, I'm the one getting out of Jersey before the Benny's hit the shore. You guys are stuck.)

Last night, we all met up for drinks at the Jester after dinner, and I was asked by someone if I still have a lot to do before I leave. Well, I do. I still have lot's of loose ends to tie up in the next day and half. But there are two main chores that top my list.

First, I still have to buy some Barbie Dolls for my new sisters. After much deliberation as to what color Barbies to buy, I've decided to go with blond hair and blue eyes. What the heck. I am American, right? I may as well provide them with the typical American stereotype.

And, as for the second errand--when I've said my goodbyes over the past week, this is the line I've been getting most often: "Have a great trip, be safe, and don't forget to bring your own condoms."

Apparently, the quality standards down there aren't necessarily up to snuff (conversely, I'm sure the diseases down there aren't any less forgiving.)

So, in a nutshell, that's my agenda for today.

Barbie Dolls and condoms.

The end of an era

It's over.

Four years, and thousands of glass-shattering karaoke songs later, my run as a bartender has come to an end.

It was a night of mixed emotions--a night of heartfelt goodbyes, sappy song dedications, and shameless plugs for my blog.

It was also a night for reflection.

I can still vividly remember my interview for the job back in 2006. I had just come off a three month stint working as research analyst for a firm in the city--a job I had voluntarily ended (because it sucked a fat one)--and I was in desperate need of some cash.

After inspecting my application, my general manager, Paul, looked up and said, "So, basically, you just want a job here until something better comes along?"

Knowing it was the truth, I fed him the best bullshit I could think of.

Then he asked, "Do you play softball?"

And the job was a lock.

Of course, if you had told me back then that I would be working there for the next four years of my life, I would have said you were nuts. But isn't that always the case? Take a moment to reflect on your own life. Has everything always gone the way you thought it would?

I sure hope not. Because I've come to learn that part of what makes life exciting is, well, just living.

I've learned the importance of embracing new experiences, and of looking back on those experiences with an open mind and with a desire to learn from them, rather than with regret.

So, my words of wisdom (read: words of blissful ignorance) for the day: Go with the flow, roll with the punches, grip it and rip it!

Because as my father always likes to point out, "Life is what happens when you're busy making plans!"

Buying gifts

I can't show up at my new family's doorstep empty handed, and ever since I received the information about them I've been trying to decide what types of gifts to buy. I'd like to get each of the family members a thing or two, and preferably I'd like the gifts to meet the following criteria:

1) Something typical of America

2) Something they'll use

3) Something they can't get, or wouldn't readily purchase, in Costa Rica

For my new mother, I went to Bath and Body Works and bought her some matching body wash, body spray, and moisturizing lotion--the white citrus flavor is delightful--along with a few scented candles. (My only fear is that she applies the body spray, walks outside, and gets swarmed by mosquitoes. But I'm stickin' with it.)

I bought my new brother a Yankees hat, along with a replica of the soccer ball they'll be using in the World Cup this year in South Africa. It doesn't get much more American than a Yankees hat, and since they're big soccer fans down in Costa Rica I figure he'll appreciate the ball. (I just hope that the last person who stayed with them wasn't a Red Sox fan.)

I'll probably buy my new father some New York Jets gear. They definitely don't play American football in Costa Rica, so I thought that might be a nice cultural gift to bring. Maybe I'll get him an American football, too, and teach him the game.

"Daddy, will you play catch with me?"

That leaves my two six-year old sisters. Yesterday, at Target, I asked one of the female workers for her advice. She said that she'd never met a six-year old girl who doesn't like Barbie dolls. I replied that I'd never met any six-year old girls, on advice from my legal counsel.

So, I was all pumped to buy some Barbies. And then it hit me. What color Barbie do I buy?

They're Costa Rican. Do I get them two Hispanic-looking Barbies? Two white Barbies? How about one white and one Hispanic? Should I throw a black one in there?

After hours of deliberation, I decided there was only one solution: The Mulatto Transgender Barbie.

And you thought you'd covered everything, Mattel.

The last Monday

During the last four years of my life, I've often found myself engaged in an internal struggle stemming from the fact that I'm a bartender. The work hasn't been all that stimulating (well, besides a little stimulation in my pants) and this inner dissonance I've had to deal with has been largely due to the fact that I was a college graduate, with no direction, working in a profession that I just couldn't see myself pursuing as a career. Frankly, I thought I was wasting my time.

After last night, though, I can honestly say that I've gained far more from this simple service industry job than I could have ever hoped for.

Enter: Eric from Applebees.

Monday night has been my regular shift for nearly three years now, and it's been Eric's regular night to come to the restaurant for nearly three years, as well. In the beginning, Eric would come in with a friend or two from work, sit at my bar, laugh at me when I made stupid mistakes, and bail me out when I hadn't the slightest idea what was in a Manhattan. Each week, he would bring in more and more people, and eventually we would begin to hang out outside of work.

He became my favorite regular, my marketing manager, and my friend.

Last night was the last Monday night, and Eric came in with a small army from Applebees. They sat, they drank, they laughed. And I ran around like a chicken without a head. When closing time came, we said our goodbyes and the bar cleared out. Then, I scooped Eric's tab off the bar and found the most ridiculous and completely unnecessary tip I've ever received.

I immediately sent him a text: "Eric. I can't take all this money, man. That's crazy."

And Eric's response was something I'll truly remember: "Ultimately, it boils down to 'thanks for being our friend and not just our bartender.'"

It's been a wild ride since graduating from college, and admittedly I haven't always been content with where I'm at. But, after last night, to have even entertained the idea that I've been wasting my time seems completely ludicrous.

Money comes and goes, as do jobs. But relationships endure.

I've grown immeasurably as a person over the last four years (yes, even as a bartender) and I've come to realize that if the only thing I take with me from this chapter of my life are a few solid friendships like the one you've just seen, it will have been more than worth the time.

Do's and Don'ts

This morning, I was flipping through a pre-departure packet that was sent to me by the language school I'll be attending in Costa Rica. The purpose of one of the chapters was to prepare me for certain cultural differences I may stumble upon.

Here are a few differences between Latin America and here which I found to be notable:

1) People are as helpful as possible:

They say that, in general, people in Latin America try to be as helpful as possible. Accordingly, when asking for directions it is apparently not uncommon for someone to take the time out of their day to walk you to your destination.

The difference: Can you imagine someone with broken English asking a random New Yorker to walk them to their destination? If the New Yorker is feeling particularly warm that day, he might say something like, "Sorry, man. I gotta run. Season finale of 'Lost' starts in ten, and my Tivo is in the shop."

2) Respect for the elders:

Respect for the elders is expected in Latin America. Everyone in the family shares in the emotional and financial support of its members, and it is not uncommon for three generations of families to be living under one roof.

The difference: Here in the United States, we stick all of our old people under one roof, bus them over to Walmart, and give them 15% off on Tuesdays.

3) Macho man:

Most Latin American men are proud of their machismo, and they view whistling at ladies as a compliment.

The difference: After I graduate from law school, I may open up shop in Latin America. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce to you...the sexual harassment law suit.

4) Things don't always work:

In many parts of Latin America, things we take for granted here don't always work. Plumbing is a prime example, and they recommend that I check with my host family before throwing toilet paper in the toilet.

The difference: Could you ever see your self muttering these words when entering someone's home. "So, help me out here. Do I throw the shit-rags in the toilet, or uhh...?"

One week

Lift-off is a week away, and everyone keeps asking me the same question. "Are you ready?"

Well, the honest answer?

[Ear muffs] "Fuck, no."

There's a boatload of crap I need to get done before I leave. There are lot's of last minute purchases I need to make, and I also have a few administrative details to take care of (i.e. signing the promissory notes on my school loans, and canceling some recurring subscriptions to a few choice websites.)

Two of the items I was planning on purchasing this week were a Spanish phrase book, and a journal to write in for when I don't have internet access. Last night, Jeremy threw me a farewell BBQ. When I showed up, his girlfriend, Meredith, handed me two wrapped gifts. Can you guess what they were?

I was flipping through the phrase book last night, and it looks like it'll come in mighty handy on my journey.

From Chapter 4, "Making New Friends," I learned that if I see a girl sitting alone in a cafe, it might be appropriate to point to the empty chair beside her and say, "Me permite?" May I?

Now, understandably, she may want to know a bit about me, first. She might pull out this line from Chapter 5, 'Describing Things':

"Es grande?" Is it big?

To which I would naturally reply, "No, no es muy grande," to assuage her fears. No, it's not very big.

If I'm talking to a man on the bus, I might use this line from Chapter 7, 'Making Small Talk':

"Cuantos anos tiene su hija?" How old is your daughter?

When he angrily tells me she's fifteen, I might follow with another line from Chapter 7. "Es una problema?" Is that a problem?

But my favorite lines are from Chapter 6, 'Shop 'Til You Drop.' If I take a prostitute shopping, a la Richard Gere in "Pretty Woman," I might ask her, "Le quedo bien?" Did it fit?

And she may very well answer, "Me queda grande." Literal translation: It fits me large.

Well, as we all know, there is only one response when someone speaks the words, "It fits me large."

"Eso es lo que ella dijo."

Translation: That's what she said.

Staying connected

I'm leaving a week from tomorrow, which means that in a week from today this empty backpack at my feet will be filled with everything I'll need for the next two months. I won't have room to pack much more than the bare necessities--and maybe a pack of Skittles.

One of the items I've been debating on bringing is my cell phone. I have mixed opinions on the issue, and I've received mixed reviews from a mix of people. My stepmother told me not to take it, and my kitchen manager, from El Salvador, was shocked when I suggested not carrying one with me.

I decided long ago that one item I certainly will not be bringing is an Ipod. For one, I think that it'll be important to always be aware of my surroundings, and an Ipod may serve to hinder that awareness. But the real reason I don't want to bring an Ipod is that I feel it will detract from the whole cultural experience. One of my main goals in traveling to a Spanish-speaking part of the world is to, well, immerse myself in the Spanish language. I just don't feel like that goal would be fully realized if there's a constant stream of American music blasting in my ears.

My reasons for not wanting to bring a phone are similar. I want to stay connected enough with my friends and family to let them know I'm safe, keep them up to date on my adventures, and to stay informed on what's new in their lives, as well. But I want to stay disconnected enough to feel, well, disconnected on a certain level, as strange as that may seem.

So, while a phone would certainly make things easier at times, given my ultimate goals, the disadvantages seem to outweigh the benefits. I suspect that a mix of phone cards, internet cafes, smoke signals, and carrier pigeons should do the trick just fine.

My new address

Okay. So it's highly unlikely that I'll be receiving any mail during my stay in Costa Rica. But, since I do have the address to my new house, I figured I'd share it with the rest of you. I hope you have a few minutes to spare, because it's a bit lengthy to write down.

Here goes:

San Isidro de Coronado (that's the name of the town) -- By the Catholic church, 500 meters north, 25 meters west. First house on the right, with the red door, tiled roof, green columns, and a chimney.

Ummm, yeah. So basically what I'm saying here is, "Don't write me. I'll write you."

I wonder what types of mix-ups occur with the postal service down there. Do you think that my new house often receives mail intended for the house that's located only 490 meters north of the Catholic church? How about the house that's 510 meters north?

And what about roofing material blunders?

"How many times do I have to tell you incompetent mail people? This is the house with the TILED roof! The THATCHED roof is across the way! For Christ's sake!"

My father actually made a good point, though. At least the address doesn't say something like, "500 meters north of where the Catholic church USED to be."

So, this should be interesting. I just hope they weren't planning on doing any painting before I arrive. If that door isn't red, and those columns aren't green, I'm in big trouble.

Maybe I should write them a letter.

Sombreros

I have good news and I have bad news.

The bad news: I'm now $465 poorer than I used to be.

The good news: Yellow fever ain't got SHIT on me!

I got a whole slew of travel vaccinations yesterday, none of which were covered by insurance. (It's funny. Horizon won't pay for any preventative medicine, but they'll dig deep into their pockets once I actually contract the diseases. Go figure.)

Anyway, I received vaccinations for yellow fever, hepatitis A, and typhoid fever, a shot for tetanus, diptheria, and pertussis, as well as antimalarial medications to bring with me on my voyage. Little Johnny is ready to hit the Oregon Trail!

During the consultation, the doctor also asked me a whole bunch of questions about my daily habits:

"So, Brandon," he said. "Will you be exercising at all on your trip?"

"Mostly just running away from drug cartels," I replied.

"Well, just remember that if you exercise, it's very important to stay hydrated." Thanks, doc. "Now, how about your eating habits? Do you plan on eating any local cuisine?"

"No, no, no. Not me, doc. I was actually planning on importing BK Whoppers for the duration of my trip."

"Well, just remember to bring some immodium and pepto bismol in case your stomach doesn't agree with the local food." That's why I'm packing TWO pairs of underwear, doc. "Now, Brandon. Do you plan on having sex while in Central America?"

"Mostly just with farm animals. Maybe some rare breeds of wildlife that we don't have back in the States. I hear the rain forests are ripe for the picking."

"Well, just remember to always use condoms. Down there, they call them sombreros." A priceless piece of advice. "So, Brandon, do you have any questions?"

"Well, actually, it's more of an observation. I didn't see you throw on a 'sombrero' before you raped me with this consultation fee. Should I be concerned, doc?"

Personal Guide

When I tell people that I'm taking a trip to Costa Rica, Panama, and Colombia, the general reaction seems to be strikingly similar:

"Costa Rica! That's sweet! My friend just got back from there and he said it was amazing!"
"Panama? I've heard that parts of Panama are really nice."
"Colombia?!?! Are you fucking nuts? Do you want to come back alive?"

Whether or not the stereotypes are justified, the truth is that Colombia was the one part of my trip that worried me the most. Until I met Henry, that is.

A little over a month ago, when I first broke the news to my father and step mother, we were having dinner at an Italian restaurant called Rosie's up near Morristown, New Jersey. As we ate our salads, I told them all about my proposed itinerary. Then I hid under the table awaiting their reaction.

My father's response? "Oh. I think our waiter, Henry, is from Colombia. Let's call him over." So my father flagged him down and told him my plans.

"What parts of Colombia will you be visiting?" he asked.

"Well, I really don't have any set plans," I said. "I was planning on spending about two weeks in Colombia, and I'd definitely like to see the three major cities, Medellin, Cali, and Bogota."

"Hmmm. How old are you?" he asked.

"Twenty-seven."

"Well," Henry said, in his remarkable yet still Colombian-infused English, "I will tell you. My nephew is twenty-three, and he lives in Medellin. He has a great group of friends. You can go there, and stay with him, and he will take you around the city. I will tell you that my family owns a coffee farm between Medellin and Cali. So you can go to my hometown and stay there. Then, I will tell you that my sister lives in Cali. My brother-in-law will pick you up and take you there. You can stay with them. And, I will tell you that my close family friends live in Bogota. So you can stay with them, too."

At first it seemed a bit surreal to me that Henry would so readily offer up the help of his friends and family without running it by them. But Henry was dead serious. He gave me his email address and phone number, and said that he would put me in touch with his family as the trip neared.

Fast forward to last night.

My father, stepmother, and I decided that for our last meal together in the States, we would return to Rosie's and touch base with Henry, once again. As we walked through the door, there was Henry standing by the bar. With a big smile, he greeted my stepmother, and then my father. Then he looked at me. "We have to talk..."

He paused.

"...I am going to be there!"

Henry explained that he has just planned a three-week trip to Colombia with his wife. They are going to stay in Cali with his family, and he invited me to stay there with them. They are also planning a five-day trip to a beach resort town called Santa Marta, located on Colombia's Atlantic Coast. He invited me there, as well.

The dates don't match perfectly with my original plans but, then again, I didn't really have any plans to begin with. So, it looks like I'll probably wind up chopping a few days off of my stays in Costa Rica and Panama, and adding them to the Colombian leg.

I'd be a fool not to take advantage of my own personal tour guide!

Mi nueva familia

So, as I mentioned in my previous post, I'll be living with a host family for the first three weeks of my stay in Costa Rica. It's actually a pretty sweet deal. I get a key to the house so I can come and go as I please, I'm provided with two meals a day, and my new mother does my laundry at least once a week, with the exception of my dirty undies (which I suspect shall be fairly steamy.)

When I signed up for the language program, I was asked to list certain preferences regarding my homestay. I had only one request, that I be placed in a family with children. Why? Well, I did it for two reasons: 1) I figured it would add to the whole cultural experience; and 2) I love little boys (there, I beat all you perverts to the punch.)

I just received some information on my new family, and it looks like Amerispan came through. Here's the rundown, including year of birth, for each member:

Denise Melendez Gonzalez (1979); Kristian Sanchez Solano (1974); Sebastian (1998); Sofia (2004); Mariana (2004).

So, I'm pretty pumped. I'll have a twelve year old brother, two six year old sisters, and my new thirty-six year old father and I should get along fairly well. The only one I'm worried about is my new mother, Ms. Gonzalez. Thirty-one years old? Yikes. That's well within my age of prey.

T-minus

Hey, what's up guys?

As many of you reading this already know, I'm going on a little trip this summer before I start law school this fall. On Sunday, May 30th, at 6:15 AM, I'll be leaving the United States en route to Costa Rica, where I'll be spending three weeks living with a host family and taking Spanish lessons near the capital city of San Jose. After that, I'll have the next six weeks to do as I please, with the exception of one scheduled event: On Monday, August 2, at 7:55 AM, my flight back to the United States departs...

...from Bogota, Colombia.

Since lift-off is less than two weeks away, I figured now would be a good time to unveil my blog. It'll give me a chance to get in the habit of writing everyday, and it should allow ample time for all you vagrants to get in the habit of visiting everyday. (If you don't, it's no big deal. We're just not friends anymore.)

Other than to offer an engaging and humorous aside to your otherwise monotonous daily routine, I make two promises regarding this blog:

1) Internet access permitting, I promise to make a post everyday, starting today. (When I'm in areas with no internet access, I'll do my best to make hand-written entries and to update the blog when I return to civilization.)

2) To appease the increasingly ADD-infected population, I'll keep it short and sweet.

Oh, and one last thing: If you have any obnoxious rhetorical questions or off-handed comments regarding any of my posts, please don't bottle them up. Feel free to share them with the rest of us.

Thanks for stopping by.

--Brandon