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The name of this blog is Mi Nelum 98 72. It's the name given to Mount Everest in one of the many Nepalese languages. It's also what my uncle calls me, and I find it incredibly irritating. However, since he read that this was the appropriate way to say "mountain" in Nepali on some random website, he insists on ranting about how "90% of people don't even know where Everest is". He's convinced that climbing it has made him an expert on Nepal and ready for his next adventure which, by all indications, will be moving somewhere more exciting than Florida. So, to get a taste of the adventure of living in a foreign land, I've decided to start this blog. I've also decided that since 90% of people don't know anything about me, the other 10% won't mind too much if I leave out all the unimportant details. I live in New York City with my parents and my younger brother Jimmy. Occasionally we have random members of our extended family show up at random times for no apparent reason. My parents are both lawyers which means they're not around much and when they are, they're arguing about something current or past ever so eloquently or loudly, in my case. I'm not allowed to date anyone until I'm 18, but I really love the guy next door who turns 18 in two days. He's an aspiring screenwriter, so he's never at home. The upside is that when he does come home, I can watch him fish out of his bedroom window (he lives above our garage). It's pretty awesome because you can see everything that's happening inside his room. Earlier today I saw him trim his beard. Now that was interesting. He missed a little patch on his chin and now it looks like someone stuck a small brown bird in the middle of his face (birdfinger!). His bedroom is filled with what he calls his "artwork", which basically means he looks at women on the subway and sketches them. He's not really a good artist – even I wouldn't say that – but he's convinced that if he ever finds a girl who looks like a painting of a woman, she's going to be his next "screenwriter muse". I'm pretty sure those things don't exist. The only way you can meet one of those is if you're already an artist, and I don't think they can fix something as broken as his sketches. But maybe I could post some of them on my blog so we can all watch his career crash and burn. Once my parents find out I'm writing a blog, I'll be in so much trouble. First they'll tell me to stop writing it, then they'll tell me to start over because I'm using the wrong font, the wrong font size, and now they're telling me to stop talking about fonts. "You're not supposed to talk about what you don't know," is basically what they say. I suppose that makes sense. If you don't know something, why would you even want to write it? But if your family wants you to stop writing something, how do they expect you to learn about it? Pura Gura 98 72. cfa1e77820
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