Badhummus returns

...from the dead, if we were to believe last night's report from a certain twelve year old. (He would not lend me his drawing, but I have duplicated it here in my most artistic hand.)

I have been minimally employed for a fortnight now, and it has been delightful. Each day, rain or shine, begins at 9:01 with a run in the park. In the past, I only made it to the park in the evenings and on the weekends, when the running trail is blocked by teetering toddlers, hand-holding lovers, cyclists, umbrella-bearing old women, and stray dogs.

How different in the morning! How peaceful the park! While others work or attend classes, the park is left to me and several Southeast Asian domestic helpers who are walking their elderly or canine charges. And a foreigner (not me) who crosses the bounds of propriety in the pursuit of a good tan.

Best of all, no panicked screams emerge from children lost within the topiary maze, as they frantically use their cell phones to call their parents for help. At such times, my compassion overcomes my desire to keep my heart rate up. Stopping by the maze, I shout advice over the top of the hedges.

“Everything will be fine. Just put your right hand on the right wall and walk forward. Whenever you come to a choice, turn right. In this way, you will soon find the exit.”

Of course, I can't help but add, if you encounter the Minotaur, the only thing to do is pray for a speedy death.

In twenty years, these children will chuckle and wonder who was their savior that day, that deus ex machina speaking strangely-accented Mandarin.

Devoted readers are forgiven for thinking that Badhummus was lost in a labyrinth of his own. No, I have been in America. I found it a country even stranger than the one I left. They spoke constantly of matters I did not understand. Who is K-Fed? Who is Paris Hilton? (Not, as it turns out, a hotel in Paris.) What is Project Runway? (Nothing to do with the extradition of prisoners.) Why do so many people intone “It is what it is” while nodding sagely?

Time to get back in touch with what really matters: I am now sitting in a coffee shop with the past two months of Next magazine. In a few minutes, I will be up to speed on Jolin Tsai's breasts, love life, and product endorsements.