I am taking a moment to reflect on the grandness of being Mexican-American. I suggest that all the US-born who have parents that were born and raised in Mexico also enjoy a quiet observance.

I feel like I am a perfect blend of the two cultures.

A synthesis of epic proportions, on par with the Choco-Taco. Or, to a lesser extent, the Mission tortilla.

I say lesser because Mission tortillas are perfectly round. Real tortillas aren't perfectly round. A good tortilla will have an accommodating "lip." When preparing a burrito, the foodstuff would be placed on this lip and then the burrito-rolling would commence.

Rolling a burrito with a perfectly round tortilla is possible, but they are best suited for quesadillas.

Since it's almost five am and I find myself with nothing else to discuss, I'll go on about burritos.

The tortilla (and subsequent burrito) is common in Northern Mexico. But stray too far South of the border, and you will be hard-pressed to find that most functional of flour products.

My younger sister, Barbara, just returned from Southern Mexico and will firmly attest to this.

Thank you for joining me for this moment of ethnicity.

Heh heh, that should satisfy the people that hand out all those minority scholarships. Buncha know-nothing dinosaurs...I mean, Hola!

Please excuse me, I am about to put on my "pancho" and my "sombrero" and go fire my "pistolas" wildly into the air.

It should go without saying that I am already completely intoxicated. After all, it is almost time for breakfast.

* * * * * *

I knew that the trip I made to Half-Priced Books today was going to be special the moment Brian Y, Luis, and I pulled into the parking lot. A smattering of people surround an old Jeep Wagoneer that was smoldering in its parking spot. Tiny flames, as if encouraged by the wood paneling that adorned the sides of the vehicle, began to creep out from under the hood.

The people stood and watched.

In my extremely limited knowledge of spontaneously combusting automobiles, I know that placing oneself very close to said vehicle is very unwise.

An employee from the bookstore certainly didn't think so and was using a fire extinguisher in an attempt to subdue the flames. He was hunched over, trying to direct the extinguisher's stream underneath the hood of the Wagoneer and failing miserably.

There was a muffled BOOM as the radiator blew up. The guy wasn't hurt, but he staggered back in surprise and fell on his butt.

A by-stander shouted that firefighters were on their way and they had instructed everyone to stay away from the vehicle.

I happily complied and made nervously made my towards the bookstore. Usually the tires blow up as well, and I didn't feel like getting hit in the back by a high-velocity chunk of flaming rubber. At least, not today.

Luis enjoyed watching the whole thing.

The plan for the bookstore was to pick up a copy of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.

Things did not go as planned.

Luis doesn't read very much. The rest of us kids read quite a bit, but not the boy. I pretty much ordered him to go find a book that looked interesting and I would buy it for him. After failing to convince me to buy him a PlayStation game instead, he agreed.

I lead him to the Young Adults section and set him loose. I figured, as long as I'm here I'll pick up a copy of The Giver and see if they have the psuedo-sequel I'd heard about. Hey, The Phantom Tollbooth! James and the Giant Peach! A bunch of other books I read when I was a wee bookworm!

I ended up purchasing about fifty dollars worth of books. I should also point out that the Young Adult books were roughly three dollars each. I do love that store.

I also picked up a book on short-story writing by Damon Knight.

When I was younger I had no grasp for authors' names. The idea of a person writing more than one book was incomprehensible to me.

Damon Knight's short story compilations were one of the first times I made the connection between the name underneath the title of the book and the quality of the book itself. It was quite a leap when I grasped the concept that I could not only like this particular book, but the author as well.

I enjoy the works of this author. How prestigious!

Eh...before this turns into a love-letter to Damon Knight (although he did write the short story To Serve Man, which I'm pretty sure was the basis for one of the earliest The Simpson's TreeHouse of Horror episodes in which Lisa thinks the aliens are fattening them up to eat them) I'll just say that I like the author.

Leafing through the book on short-story writing made me laugh. It seemed very contrary to what I'd just finished reading in Stephen King's On Writing.

We'll see. As my nigga Phil Collins sang, "We always need to hear both sides of the story."

On that note, the sun is rising, the birds are chirping, I'm not even in my own house, and I'm starting to see those phantom cats out of the corner of my eyes again (not unusual when I've been awake too long.)

Wait, wait. Luis bought an Arthur book, which I was very pleased about. Old School, baby. He also wanted a novelization of The Tigger Movie. I stressed the fact that it was a novelization and that any idiot with a Pause button on their remote control could write one of those. He wanted it, though.

Ah well, whatever gets him reading, I thought as I patted my copy of The Revenge of the Wizard's Ghost one of the four John Bellairs's books in my basket.

Wait, I was also supposed to talk about how I fell in love with the bookstore girl.

Ah, well. I doubt anyone wants to hear about that anyway.