Buenos dias, hermano.

I'm sitting here at the conference on international youth volunteerism. So far, it's been an opportunity for people to exchange e-mails and chat about their respective volunteer projects. As I don't have the latter, I graciously give out the former, particularly to any female Colombians that ask.

I will just say this: Colombian women know what's up. They are killing--and I mean killing--every other country's women so far. Not literally, of course, but they all range from reasonably attractive to gorgeous, and spend a good amount of time preparing their looks. American women are slobs by comparison. Tell Margeaux I said that. Step your game up, U.S. Of course, they all also speak with the accent I love so much. What a wonderful country.

As I have no business cards, phone number, or permanent address (not to mention no volunteer organization), networking is proving difficult here. So, I mostly work on my Spanish with pleasant Colombian folks and try to explain to them why Detroit is better than New York City. I've dropped at least 30 statements about the Lions en Espanol.

I'm coming to learn that apparently the ability to get along with crazy old dudes runs in our blood. I befriended a dude named Jaime (of course, his name was a selling point) yesterday. He's in his 60s, probably, and spent like 15 years in the U.S. Army in Panama, so I know he's loyal to the Stars and Stripes. Anyway, also obviously speaks some English. During one of our group breaks, another guy performs a hip-hop singing act (rather well, I would add) titled "Revolutionary Love." My companion Jaime says (and I can't mimic in text, but think of Jesus in The Big Lebowski) "Amor, eh? Someone es getting focked tonight!"

It was awesome.

Love,

Doggins