Moreno

My brother comes home tomorrow! Wooo!

It's crazy that I talk so much about the kid, even crazier that I miss him so much, but I'm glad he's doing his thing and visiting so many countries.
I envy the fact that he gets to live in such diverse areas-- he brings such incredible stories.
He even made boring-ass Indiana seem like a fun place to live:

Doing the "Rafa," his "WTF is your problem?" look.

His friends are fantastic. However, as cool as his friends may be, and as funny as his photos are, my trip out there last summer was a total snooze-fest... although everyone was cool and everything... I'd rather live in Vegas.

But, it's thanks to Notre Dame that he got his start into International Living... and then came his awesome stories... and the awesome assimilation attempts made by that little Mexican.

First came Italy.

(2007, Milan) You're telling me there's a Mexican in that group of people?

He came home cooking all sorts of pasta, screaming in Italian that left the rest of us in the house wondering what the hell was going on, and he had this immense hate for gypsies.
You mean you would never fall in love with The Hunchback's Esmeralda?
Fuck that shit! Gypsies can go to fucking hell!
It took about a month of Mexico living to get him to speak with a Mexican accent... and for him to quit complaining over how much fresher the cheese and tomatoes are in Milan.

It tastes like I'm eating paper right now!

He also came home with a... rather trashy tattoo over his heart. I call it a boat... but it's actually a "shield" that says "Dio, Familia, Love" or some shit like that-- "God, Family, Love" in the three languages he speaks: Italian, Spanish, and English.
 Well, good luck to you. Hope you didn't catch hepatitis from those very clean needles, ass.
My folks have no idea the tattoo exists... so my sister and I go through hell to keep him from taking off his shirt each time the idiot gets drunk around my parents.
Fun shit.

Then came his life as an intern at England's parliament.

(Jan-June 2008) "I'M practicing proper beer stein grip. One hand only! Freakin rookies!"

That semester... I'm surprised he came back with his liver. I did manage to visit him that time... and I was surprised to see how his skin was so pale... yeah, that's pale.
Ruffles! You sure you don't have jaundice?
He immediately forced me into using the term "rubbish," and I was hooked on referring to any apartment as a "flat." He didn't acquire much of a culinary gift like in Milan... but... he did teach us a lot about beer... and pub crawls.
This semester he also decided to join the dark side... and by "dark side," I mean "he became a Chelsea FC fan"... punk bitch.

Now it comes to this summer.
Being that he lived in South Africa from May to... the other day, I'm eager to see how he has changed. I was able to see a little of him on that first day of the World Cup back in June, but not much else after that. However, from what I've been able to gather based on his FB status updates, that guy has had a blast.
All good up until there...

After his internship was over in South Africa, he moved on over to the Middle East... just for fun.

Lebanon, Jordan, and Turkey.

Mom wasn't a fan... neither was Dad... I thought they were exaggerating.
Then I saw the single photo he updated his FB with, all the way from Istanbul:

I will shave my own head if Ruffles was sober here.

Hermano!! What. The. Fuck.
Is it me... or does he genuinely look like a terrorist?
Ok, I'm exaggerating... but he totally looks like a native. I now understand why people ask us if we're some sort of Middle East blend (technically, we'd be closest to Moroccan's, since the D's and M's are from the southern portion of Spain... where the drama unfolded between the Jews, Christians, and Muslims back in the day. I already have the Jewish ancestry, I wouldn't be surprised to have some Muslim in there as well).

Anyway, back to the story, want to know the caption to the photo?

This is what happens when you walk the backstreets of downtown Istanbul and run into a guy selling tequila shots to passers-by. Then, walk a few more steps to one of the random photo kiosks provided by the municipality at strategic points throughout...

I can't wait to hear his stories.

... and that camera in his hand... guess who owns that camera...
Right here.
That shit better be intact.