The Music is Your True Stop

The English language in Kazakhstan is a syntactical playground for the logophile in me. On a regular and recurring basis, I see things written in English that make it impossible for me to sidestep the seduction that is distillation of lexicon and diction. In rare display of my true nerd colors, I'm going to go out on a limb here and admit that I find dangling participles, missing implied antecedents, circular logic, and disheveled word order to be titillatingly obtuse and tantalizingly explorable.

Yea. I just said that. Though I may have polished-up the bravado and wit to run a good game in my adulthood, deep down I am still that chubby little kid in Umbro shorts and over-sized t-shirts that change colors in the sun, who sits in a tree and transcribes, looking through smudgy glasses, an inexhaustible list of favorite parts of the Encyclopedia Brittanica, to be categorized for personal use in a binder titled (in bubble letters) "Things to Always Understand". (Sidenote: Mom, it's childhood gems like that, which I expect you to recall when I, with Macallan and friends, decide to drunk dial you to reminisce about The America and how far my life has come over the years).

But back to the point. Read More.