Coming home...

So I turn on the radio in the car yesterday, on the way back from being lost again and driving around half understanding the signs that I'm seeing (well, this character looks like that part of this character, so let me try to remember the second character because I need to turn on the street with the second character as the second character out of three and the other word that also looks like hui. right.)(Now you see why I get lost), and the only English station in Taiwan has a dj who's speaking... CHINGLISH. I was like wow, that is really awesome. Like, comforting awesome. Like, I want to cuddle up with his words like a security blanket and wrap them all around me because it sounds like I've come home. The dj did half the band interview in English, throwing in phrases like, "I'm gonna run out and..." and "That's hella awesome." I'm sure he did it in order to up the "cool" quotient, since he was interviewing a silverchair-y band that probably didn't respond in a word of English. Granted, I still didn't understand 40 percent of what he was saying in Chinese, but I could pick up a few new words here and there based on the Chinglish context and... it was nice. Despite all of my language griping, I still have it pretty good here, considering most of the signs contain at least one word of English, including the phonetically anglicized street signs. I wish that everyone would speak Chinglish to me. If it ever gets cold here, I could wrap myself up in that with a cup of hot cocoa, and I would be good to go.