The End.

I landed in Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay. It looks like every other mid-sized South American city I've visited. There's some nice classical buildings; there are lots of decaying buildings. McDonald's is popular. The airport is modern. I got a good exchange rate for my dollars from a woman who spoke no English but was excellent with hand signals. I saw the city in half a day.

There are supposed to be nice beaches further east. The rain had other ideas. Rain. What a stupid concept. Water falling from the sky? What's it doing in the sky? And why it is falling down on every damn beach I want to go to? I don't believe in signs, but I take it as a sign. No more beaches for me. And that means... no more South America. I guess there are other things to do here. What they are, I have no idea. But my last few days were meant to be spent on sand.

So that's it. The unceremonious end. I've moved my flight up a few days. I'm outta here. I reached that point where I just don't have it in me anymore. My passport needs a rest. The final tally was 14 countries, 7.5 months outside the U.S., and more hours in buses, boats, planes, taxis, subways, and bikes than I care to remember. For now, the rest of the world can suck it. I want to sit on a nice toilet that flushes properly while reading the Sports section. I'm not leaving the U.S. for a while.

Back to California. Back to the grind. Well, not exactly. No job, no apartment, and no real prospects. I'm just another bum. Man, that sounds really good.

A giant thank you is in order to everyone who has stayed with me these last eight months. You've withstood boring stories, profanity, typos, formatting errors, and, all too frequently, a gross distortion of the English language. My English teachers disavow all knowledge of ever having taught me basic rules of grammar. (Actually, any blame should fall squarely on Ms. Hamilton, my tenth grade English teacher. She sucked. I really hated her. She kept nagging me about my writing style. Some bullshit about 'not being aware of my writer's voice.' I actually remember her saying that. What the hell does that even mean? Plus, she destroyed "All The Kings Men." I despised it so much I couldn't even bear to read the Cliff's Notes version of the book. She just killed it with over-analysis. Bitch. OK - that's my last random rant on this blog.)

The author (just once I had to use the third person) is now back in L.A. I've got lots of stories I never published that are worth hearing, so invite me to lunch or drinks and I'll regale you with grand stories of my life and times. You buy, of course. I'm unemployed...