We finally got a grill; it’s small, it’s cute, but it (kinda) does the job. As a foreigner, I find find everything here to be foreign, you’d think cooking/roasting/grilling (tasty) animal flesh would be the same everywhere, BUT NOOOO (Belushi/SNL), you can’t just grill meat, you have to grill it.

As always, shopping is a little adventure. I am always the largest, whitest, loudest, most intrusive thing in the store (and on the bus, at the hospital, school, park, etc…) As soon as I walk into a store, no matter how large it is, everyone becomes instantly busy–even people who don’t work there. You’d think there might be some camaraderie between customers, BUT NOOOOO, they all start talking on the phone or inanely reading shopping lists as I walk by. (Lady, you’re totally reading a gum wrapper.)

I have found communication to be much simpler when I use a translator. Birdie (not his real name) often helps me buy bus tickets, groceries and candy bars. (The initial reaction to Birdie is to punch him, but the real problem is drunk people. They can’t punch straight. This is my third pair of glasses.)

Well anyhoo, I have a grill. I’m a man. A smokey, charcoal dusted, spatula flipping MAN.

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We met some friends across town at a university campus park. This U is renown for its expansive rose garden, it’s almost edenic. It goes on, wave after wave of fragrant petals.

Kaiser’s little buddy is Kayden, same age, same interests. We love to have him over; playtime needs no explanation. Playtime is: Hot Wheels, baseball, jumping, running and snacks. Kayden. Understands.

In the picture below, of me and Kyz, you’ll see him contorting his limbs, he’s winding up for the pitch. He does this every time he sees boys playing, or there is a game on the tube. He learned this from his cousin Keagen, we used to watch Keags play, Kyz loved it and still imitates Keagen.

The penguin needs no introduction.

The box. If you have a small child, or have ever been a small child, you really don’t need me to explain box. For the sake of those who have recently joined the blog, and I haven’t completed your background check (please, no urine samples) I will explain. Ready? It’s a box. But when is a box not a box? (Thanks, Dick Grayson.) When it’s the universe, or the stuff the universe is made of.  After Mom removed the groceries (In Korea, groceries are delivered.) The box became an F1 race car. Then a jet plane and then a sled.

But then Dad, (Me.)  a near genius with cardboard and other kinds of cosmic matter, created an army tank. Guns and everything. It. Rocked.

So, basically we goof around a lot. And grill. That’s life.

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