Apparently, I do something strange to the brains of old men. Although I think these people are capable of normal conversations, whenever they talk to me the topics just take a turn to the odd. The guy in the office across from me comments whenever I put on or take off my sweater and is always asking me when I'm going to go skiing. He's given me the nickname "Super Skier," even though I've repeatedly told him that I'm a snowboarder.
The old guy at my apartment complex is a whole new level of odd. Yesterday morning when I was going to work out he said that I was working out in order to look like the Mona Lisa (she is the paragon of fitness, after all). Highlights from our very first conversation (he was there when I was taking out the cat box and I wasn't able to extract myself for over an hour. R was wondering where I went!) include: literature (like many old men, nonfiction is the only literature for him), religion, the deep knowledge of the civilizations of ancient Mexico, metaphysics (everything natural has energy, so if you're in a bad mood you should hug a tree. Don't hug your spouse, though, lest you steal their energy), and music (he doesn't like that traditional music that all these people from the North of Mexico listen to, and instead listens to Glen Miller, which is awesome). Odd as these conversations have been, I'm actually rather proud of myself for being able to understand them, seeing as they all took place in Spanish.
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