S. P. Morgan, Scholar of Nihonglish and Tranportables

What?! When?! Where?! How?! And with YOU?!

Alas, life works in mysterious ways. One morning I wake up, go to church, and go on my piddly way. Less than a week of mornings and piddly goings later, I am stuck on a plane, then another plane (one with a mighty lot of water under it), then a train, then another train, and then one more train, all to be picked up by the shortest girl I've ever met, driven to a house in the middle of a foreign country, where the next morning I wake up to the face of my own, personal, and altogether, but not quite completely, unknowledgable Ford Prefect. I have not stopped whimpering since, although I find two and a half years later that around lunch time my head stops twirling and I can actually communicate on a halfway intelligent level, though a good ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent of the people surrounding me speak a different language than the one I'm generally accustomed to. If only I'd known...I would have left my seemingly mishappen and meaningless life in the States sooner...

Steve