I'm making a list; do-da-do-do

The idea for this came from the sudden abundance of “lists” that have been popping up lately in my Facebook account. The first was a “25 things about me” list I received from a friend back in Racine. Then there was the “you’re trapped on an island with your 10 favorite albums” list I received quite unexpectedly from an old Army friend. This one really got me thinking because it brought back memories of the two of us talking shit about each others taste in music; I was into those deep thinking guys who couldn’t sing, while he was into the cotton candy metal that was such a big part of the late 80’s. I know it’s a great way to share and connect but I’ve never been comfortable writing “25 great things about me”, and let’s be serious, is anybody really dying to know what music I listen to?Well the last straw was a list I received one from Debbie, my Brother Dan’s wife. It was something along the lines of “great things about having my first baby”. In typical Debbie fashion it was cute and wholesome, and in typical Debbie fashion she left out the greatest part. Having only ever been on the being born side of the birthing process, I had no idea of all that is involved to get your body ready to deliver a baby. I like to think I have a few good stories to tell, but never have I been able to include the classic line “and then I shit myself”. I would die to be able to include that in one of my stories; “I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but the next thing I know I shat all over myself; there I was surrounded by ten of my best friends with absolutely nothing to say”. Anyways, in honor of Debbie and everyone else who has included me on their mailing list, I have decided to do a little something myself.

I really do enjoy music, but I also really do believe not many of you give a shit what my favorite albums of all time are so I’m going to go about it a little differently. Instead my plan is to make a list of the songs that remind me of some of the good people in my life. Of course this will not be an exhaustive list; there are some great people I know whom I don’t connect to any particular piece of music; because of this, these people are out. On the other side of the coin, there are some people who really aren’t all that great but because I can’t think of them without hearing a song, they might make it in. In any event this will give me a chance to think back on some good times, and late on a Saturday night such as it is, that isn’t such a bad thing.

My childhood was spent in the 70’s and I have nothing but good things to say about that. We had floppy hair and were always dirty. Our parents (usually divorced) all smoked and gave us alcohol at very young ages. We never wore seatbelts or bicycle helmets. Basically we weren’t the soft, emotion-bound bunch teachers like myself are forced to deal. Luckily we weren’t subjected to the corporate hell of boy bands and teenage hoes the likes of which so popular today. We grew up listening to Steely Dan on the car radio; not because we really wanted to, but because that was what they were playing. With all this in mind I bring you to my first connection, my brother Mike and the band Journey.

The first album I ever bought was Journey Departure (“Anyway you want it, that’s the way you need it!”) and it was directly because him. There was already a copy in the house, but I had to have my own. I bought it at the music department at Shopko of all places. Journey had plenty of melody to hook a 12 year old and just enough coolness to survive the 6th grade playground. Mike was always there for me, he was probably the only person whose advice I listened to for the first 30 years of my life (man I just never liked listening to people’s advice). After I got out of the Army we hung out quite a bit. He was recently out of the Air Force himself, and though I don’t promote the glamorization of getting drunk, we got seriously drunk a seriously large number of times and all of them were good times. I always felt comfortable around him, as if nothing was going to go wrong. My first experience with hard drugs was with Mike. We were out at a shitty bar in Racine (The Shufflebear), he asked and I never even hesitated; I didn’t for a second think anything bad would happen (it didn’t). Thank god we didn’t run into any transvestite prostitutes because who knows what might have happened. When I found my brother Matt dead, he was the first person I saw afterwards, and it was exactly as it should be; I’ll never forget that. Mike has been dead awhile now, I miss him.

As far as music and Mike goes, I do regret not doing something about the shmultzness of playing Dave Matthews at his funeral service (in the end, I wasn’t the only one there and other people seemed to enjoy it, so so be it; but I still should have ran up and ripped that tape out)

Next up I will venture back to my Army days and the people who made such a crap-tastic time in my life bearable. First up will be Raymond Corey Cline or Condoosh to his friends. Somehow or other a lot of us got nicknames that ended in –doosh. There was Mickdoosh and Packdoosh and of course me, Big Kevdoosh. I remember being out with my friend Brad Pack, a really large black guy from Queens New York. He used to come over just about every morning to eat my cereal. I didn’t much mind, he was a good guy. Anyways one time we were out somewhere, maybe it was bank or something, and I was talking to a lady behind a counter. Whatever I was doing there was quickly coming to an end when Pack said “Come on Big Kevdoosh, let’s go” to which the lady loudly and unpleasantly responded “THAT’S NOT A NICE NAME”. This might not mean much to you but for the next year or so we repeated that line over and over again. (I’ve decided to use this blog as something of an oral history of my life, so seemingly meaningless bits like the one just described will show up from time to time; rest assured they are not meant for you).

By far the most iconic nickname of the bunch was Condoosh and for good reason, Cline was a special individual. I believe the Con- portion of the name was short for condom, and he probably got that attached to himself after he decided to shave his head for no particular reason. It was often said of Cline, you could use and abuse him and throw him aside much like a condom. As for the song, it has to be “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd. Every time he got drunk (and let’s not kid anyone, we were drunk a lot back then) he would start singing that song, and start singing it LOUDLY. (the guy could absolutely not sing) Worse yet he would make the rest of us sing it with him. He was one those people for whom it is tough to describe in words, he was someone who had to be experienced.

Condoosh was probably the second most beloved one of our group; in any other group he would have been tops, but our group contained Mick Harney. Mick Harney is a blog entry all to himself and since I’m now back in contact with Carey Crane that will have to be a joint venture for another day. In amongst all his other peculiarities was his fascination with Jim Morrison. To put it more bluntly, his honest belief he would someday become Jim Morrison. But for me the music that most reminds me of him is Syd Barrett so I’ll go with “Baby Lemonade”. There will be more on Mick Harney in the future; there will have to be.

Staying with the Army theme, I’ll next go to one of the major inspirations for this “list”, Carey Russell Crane. As I may have mentioned previously, when I first met Crane I really didn’t like him and a large part of that was because of his love of really crappy music; to get right to the point, Motley Crue. Now I grew watching MTV and Friday Night Videos and saw plenty of Motley Crue videos and even as a 13 year old I thought “What’s the point, God do these guys suck!” Luckily with time I was able to get past this and we had some good times together. What the hell? while thinking about all of this, one of those good times just popped into my mind (so here goes).

It was a fine summer day and a couple of friends and I (for those around at the time, I believe it was Chandler and Wilkerson) went out and rented some mountain bikes. I do believe this was the first time I ever went mountain biking. My bike was having a bit of a problem, namely trouble with the back break. Not having much experience with bikes and being of an age when expedience trumps wisdom, we solved the problem by simply disabling the back brake all together. While going down our first hill a potentially dangerous problem began to arise; I was going faster than the guy in front of me and had no real way of slowing down. It soon became obvious that something must be done; within seconds I was going to run right up his ass. I quickly scanned through the options and choose the most logical. I had unhooked the back brake, but the front brake was in perfect working order. When I was within inches of the back tire ahead of me I smoothly and gently hit the front brake and . . .WAS INSTANTLY CATAPULTED INTO THE AIR, RIGHT OVER THE HANDLE BARS. Luckily I completed a full helmetless revolution and landed mostly on my butt in a full roll only to see the bike hurl by above me. From what I hear from the third member of our group, it was quite the site. In the end, I was fine, the bike was fine and we kept going.

Later that day we learned that our friend Crane (Crane always loooved Chandler and Wilkerson) was having a bit of a party at his girlfriend's house, yet another member of the great 10th Chemical Co. (I’m not joking about being great. I’ll have you know, while we were over there we were named “Best Chemical Company in Europe” and that’s the truth; I have no fucking clue how, but we were). Getting there required a good 5 – 10 mile ride on our rented bikes after our little trail riding episode, and mind you this was Germany and Germany has some hills. Needless to say I was worn out and seeing stars by the time we got there. I’m not sure what other people do at their get-togethers, but we at the time drank; we laughed, we talked shit, and we drank. Rosalie, Crane’s lady-friend could cook so we did some eating too, but before I got near any food I was handed the most God-awful drink I have ever put lips on, the Mexican Flag.This monstrosity consisted of some kind of red liquor, some kind of green liquor and Bacardi 151 and if you poured it right the three would form layers . . . much like a Mexican flag. This description isn’t done quite yet; before drinking it you lit it on fire, blew it out and drank it quickly through a straw. It was a warm sweet burning hell all the way down your throat. I think I drank two. So after a hard day of bike riding, to include a very traumatic flip over the handlebars, I was completely drunk within 5 minutes of arriving and before ever getting near the food table. Within an hour or two I was passed out on the living room floor. The next thing I know it’s the middle of the night, it’s dark, and I’m freezing; seriously freezing. After that the next thing I remember is waking up in the morning, completely rolled inside the living room carpet; I was so cold during the night I had managed to find the end of the carpet and neatly roll myself inside for warmth. So there you go that was my story; back to the “list”.

One of the best “breaks” of my life came during Thanksgiving weekend, 1990. During a serious game of football, I managed to mess up my shoulder AND break a bone in my wrist. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be considered a good thing, but with Saddam Hussein invading Kuwait and America about to unleash “DESERT STORM” all over Iraq it turned out to be a great thing. All the able bodied, sad, sons-a-bitches in our company were given the unfortunate task of guarding nuke sites around Germany. The Germans being the smart people they are put these nuke sites on top of mountains in the middle of nowhere. Of course not being able to carry a weapon meant I would be detailed to the mail clerk who just happened to be my friend Carey Russell Crane. Ah I tell you, while our friends were freezing their asses off we spent the next few weeks delivering mail all across Germany in our gov’t issued VW Golf. This task of course could not have been accomplished without some tunes. With his love of Motley Crue, Nelson, and Warrant not withstanding, Carey’s music of choice was Led Zeppelin. Two guys, a boom box, a bag full of mail, and a German hatchback; let me tell you, those were some good times. The album I remember listening to the most was Physical Graffiti, not a bad thing considering it’s a double album and we had some serious mileage to cover. The song I’ll choose is “Houses of the Holy”, a good sing along. Since Carey and I are now Facebook friends I’m expecting a nice comment or two in short order. Perhaps it’s time to leave the Army theme behind; they really weren’t the best of times and it's obvious I never became all I could have been.

Having just received an email from an old friend, I thought it only right to include her in the list. So for Neelima my choice has to be Nusrat, love Nusrat; you can’t go wrong with “Musty, Musty”. Oh an of course the sound track to Chekov’s “The Seagull”, WOW! what a play (JUST KILL HIM).

Oh course you can’t talk about Neelima without talking about the man who won her heart, Joey Lucio Rios. While back in Racine over Christmas a friend described my blog as a “homage to Joey”. I told her I had trouble seeing it that way, but what the hell? others see it that way so how about more Joey Rios? I truly believe my friend Joey is the perfect human synthesis of California. He’s got the white part down (from Mom) AND the Mexican part down (from Dad). He’s got no black BUT he does love Tupac; while at the same time also loving Metallica (at least early Metallica; Ahhhh I can still remember listening to Master of Puppets in the kitchen of the Swiss House in Goroka, New Guinea while cooking up pasta with homemade sauce {and the homemade sauce was my idea}). In perfect California fashion he also poses for every photograph. Californians do this subconsciously, but damn do they do it. Just go dig up your old photos and find the ones with your California friends, the non-Californians will look at peace while the Californians will have their asses out, shoulders up, and some weird hand-jive going. He’s also dabbled in faux-gatarianism AND once had sported a really sweet ‘stache (the mustache part really has nothing to do with California but it was so sweet I felt I had to work it into the story). But to get back on point, the song has to be by Tupac and since there was one about California we’ll go with that.

After my stint in the Peace Corps I ventured out to California and spent a short time living with my just described friends Joey and Neelima. We were three recently returned Peace Corps volunteer (I’m happy to report two of us fulfilled our 2 year commitments) living in a mostly empty house, but I do look fondly upon those times. The reason it was short-lived was because of my brother Matt’s death. Not much is going to be said about that here, but Matt and I spent a lot of time together and listened to a lot of music together. While still in high school I spent quite a few weekends at his apartment on 5th and Wisconsin sleeping on our grandmother’s hand-me-down orange couch. Our grandpa Ralph spent many an hour on that couch so it was a bit of a privilege. Matt had a crappy turntable and a copy of the Rolling Stone’s Hot Rocks album which we listened to all the time. While both home from Germany on leave from the Army, we rented a video camera and filmed ourselves driving around Racine. I don’t know what happened to the video but there is a scene of us driving down what I think was 21st St. with Matt singing Dance the Night Away by Van Halen; I never hear that song without remembering that moment. We saw quite a few Lou Reed concerts together so one might think I’d go in that direction, but I’m not going to. The song that reminds me most of him is a song I didn’t connect to him until after he was already gone. The song is Lady Stardust by David Bowie,

“He was alright, the band was all together

He was alright, the song went on forever

He was awful nice

Really quite out of sight”

Through my brother Matt I met Matt Geisler. There isn’t anyone I’ve listened to more music with than Matt Geisler. Because of this I could take this many different directions; I’m actually very curious as to what’s going through his head as he reads these very words. Matt rented an apartment on Erie St. which, for those of you in the know, at one time actually contained its own Action Jackson room. Around the summer of ’93 I hung out at his place a lot. The music that brings me back to those days more than any is the Beatles (White Album). My favorite song off the album at that time was probably “I’m So Tired” so I’ll go with that one,

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“And curse Sir Walter Raleigh

He was such a stupid get”

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I can’t just leave it at that though. Not long after I got out of the Army; somehow, someway, and for some reason, I got into jazz. I probably would have gone it alone, but if not for Matt; he was right there with me through the best of it. The highlight of this period had to be the Jazz Estate in Milwaukee. Not only was he right there with me, Matt got to be me as he was underage at the time and used to borrow an old driver’s license of mine to make it past the ID check. With my brother along it often went like this: Kevin Peterson, Matt Peterson, Kevin Peterson; I’m telling you it’s a wonder they never caught on. For a couple of years some guy named Steve ran the club and not worrying too much about making a profit, brought it some big name people to a shitty little club in Milwaukee. The place was small with about six tables in front of the stage; the others were wedged into a hallway behind the stage. The place was dark and smoky, and we were being charged $6.00 a drink long before anyone had any business being charged $6.00 a drink. If I have to pick an act, I’m picking the guy who played the flute. I don’t remember his name, but I remember being at the front table. I was leaned back with my feet ON THE STAGE while this crazy, sweaty, balding guy jumped around playing the flute. Sometimes you just hit it right in life, and finding the Jazz Estate when we did way one of those times.

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This has probably carried on too long already so let’s move ahead. My last week or so at St. Catherine’s was alright. I had worked for a jack-ass but had already turned in my letter of resignation so there was a definite sense of freedom. I figured you learn a lot of stuff in high school you don’t need to know so it was about time to spread the word on things young people really should know; like which were the cool videos from the 80’s. I always seemed to find a reason to check out the projector that last week and any time left over was used to watch classic videos on the big screen. Most of that group is scattered around at various colleges and I wish them all well. This will probably break Holly Myrup’s heart which isn’t good because Holly was my main video watching partner, but I’m going with Dexy and the Midnight Runners’ “Come On Eileen”; a true classic. Sorry Holly I just could never get into Rick Astley.

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I started with a brother and will be ending with a brother. Dan has always had slightly odd tastes. Things may have changed but when younger, his favorite color was purple and his drink of choice was champagne and coke; that right there probably says everything that needs to be said. With that, it shouldn’t surprise you to learn he had what can only be described as an Elvis obsession. There was a time when if you got into a car with Dan, you knew you were going to be listening to Elvis. I still remember the time we decided we had nothing better to do on a weekend so we rented a car and drove to Graceland. In fine Peterson fashion Dan stole the audio tape they give you on the walking tour. There was also the time soon after I returned from the Army when a group of us went to Milwaukee to see Tom Green, one of America’s great Elvis Impersonators. In fine Elvis fashion the show was held in some big banquet hall, and it was packed. We ended up way in the back, a fact I’m sure made Dan pissed; how was he going to be able to call out any requests from back there? His mood lightened after he and our brother Matt walked in on Tom Green, Milwaukee’s greatest Elvis impersonator, gettin’ it on with some woman in the coat room (true story). I’ve always remembered this.

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In college I had a philosophy class and we discussed a political philosopher who came up with the idea society should be set up in a way that presupposes nobody has any idea who or what condition they are going to be in. This way when rules and regulation are made people will think hard about making it difficult for handicapped people because who knows, they might end up being the handicapped pereson themselves. There was more to it than that but that was a long time ago. The reason I bring it up is because at the time it got me thinking. If I was suddenly going to appear on Earth what would be a thing to appear as. I’m telling you I think Elvis impersonator would be a pretty good gig. You would get to completely escape the routine of the ordinary world and you could pack a room just about any Saturday night; people would love you. Tom Green was not a good looking man, but here he was getting it on with some highly devoted middle aged woman during intermission of a show. It would be like a teacher getting it on with some middle aged mother during break time at a PTA meeting. I’m sure that happens, but it seems so routine; where's the fantasy, the wonder? No, for my money give me the middle aged woman and the coat room of the Palace Hotel Ballroom on a Saturday night. I was originally going to go with the song Suspicious Minds because it always seemed to be Dan’s favorite, but this list is too big for that song; we have to go out bigger. There is no better way to end any mixed tape than with Elvis’ American Trilogy; ooooohhhhhh man, I can almost hear those horns now.

So there you go, there’s my list. One of you music downloading people should put this altogether for everyone. To recap it will go like this:

Anyway you want it ----------Journey

Wish you were here ----------Pink Floyd

Baby Lemonade --------------Syd Barrett

Houses of the holy ------------Led Zeppelin

Mustt mustt ------------------Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

California Love ---------------Tupac Shakur

Lady Stardust ----------------David Bowie

I’m so tired -------------------The Beatles

Come on Eileen ---------------Dexy’s Midnight Runners

American Trilogy -------------Elvis Pressley

Hopefully I was able to include must of the regular readers in one way or another. If not I guess we just haven‘t listened to enough music together, but that’s OK I can always make another list.

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It's off to Thailand on Wednesday; you have to think a story is somewhere there to be told.

The Second Coming; God The Mother

I am sitting on my couch with my old laptop on my lap; something I haven’t done for a very long time. The whole situation has an old comfortable feeling. Yes the blog is back. Why now? What in God’s name took so long? All questions that won’t be answered.

I’m going to go a bit out of order. The first new blog entry was going to be “Traveling Home: The Christmas in Racine Spectacular”, but that has all the makings of a looong, multi-evening creative process; not really what is called for here. Although I have gotten some good feedback on the long postings from the past; Joey Granite for one, loves the multi-night entries. No what is called for here is something shorter, something that can be started and finished in one sitting. Luckily I have one of those stories, it concerns something that happened just yesterday, my first day back in Korea and I like to call it The Second Coming, God the Mother. Before I leave this little introduction let me say how encouraging it was to hear all the kind words about the blog while I was home. For the longest time I thought my readership numbered about 3 people, but after being home I honestly believe the number has got to be at least 10; TEN, which is double figures. Lastly it hasn’t been said here before but Hannah Nilles has to be about the coolest person in the world. And oh yeah, I know no one named Carl; never have.

After not sleeping more than three continuous hours the entire time I was back in Racine, it was an amazing and somewhat surprising feeling to get a full night’s sleep the very first night I was back in Korea. Truth be told, it almost didn’t happen. After 23 straight hours of travel I walked into my apartment here in Joy Palace to find the temperature at 13° Celsius which is somewhere around 50° F. It seems my heating oil tank ran empty while I was gone leaving my apartment at the will of a Korean winter. This seemed especially cruel after first walking off the plane in Chicago to a 6 below Sunday morning complete with a 30 mph wind and leaving 10 days on a 9° F Wednesday morning. I was honestly excited about getting back to Korea and some warmer weather, and let me tell you warm Korean winters are not what you hear too many people talking about.

It was about 9:00 PM when I walked through the front door of the apartment; a real problem if a warm night’s sleep was to be had. The best I could muster was to go upstairs to my neighbor’s who was still in the states and raid his apartment of any kind of space heater I could find. What I found was three, of which only 2 worked. I set the quiet one up in the bedroom and the loud one up in the living room. The sleeping bag was rustled off the couch to supplement the blankets already on the bed and to bed I went. The secret I found to staying warm in a situation like this is to have a good warm blanket underneath you and not just layer upon layer on top of you. Having never been a boy scout and having been an unenthusiastic Army man, this knowledge came late in life to me, but when it came it came with a sense of real pride.

(For the record, there is no way this is going to be finished tonight)

Alright let’s get back to it. It’s Friday morning and I’ve just had my first good night sleep in over a week; surprisingly nothing was able to stop this, not the outdoors-like coolness of my indoors bedroom nor the soft orange glow of the borrowed space heater. Of course there really is only two things I need to concern myself with on a morning like this, eating some cereal and checking the internet; luckily I can do both at the same time on my sweet living room set-up. Breakfast went quickly so after that my total attention was directed to my email (kevfrancerson@yahoo.com, send all confidential comments here) and other various semi-important websites. Suddenly the door bell rings which downright surprised me, so much so I forget to look at my cool little doorbell activated video screen which allows me to see who is standing on the other side of the door. No instead I jumped right up, opened the door and found 3 bundled up Korean people, two females and one male. Now either this is the luckiest day of my life or I’m in big trouble. Unfortunately I’m still waiting for the luckiest day of my life because the first words out of their mouths were something along the lines of “Hello, we’re from so-and-so church and do you have a moment”. The let down from the disappointment of this not being the luckiest day of my life must have been extreme because I said yes, yes I do have a moment.

I’m asked if I could fill out a short 6 question survey, again I say yes (trust me, I was bewilderingly disappointed). The stairwell of my building is not heated so it gets quite cold in the winter, considering this and the fact I’m already stuck, I invited them inside my (I just got home) ramshackle apartment. To this invitation the male amongst the three lets out the most satisfied, heart-felt sigh/chuckle I’ve ever experienced.

I sat down at the table behind my computer while the two females took up places directly to my right and my front while the guy moved to the center of my living room all too obviously looking for a place to sit. Unfortunately for him all there is is a couch covered with a sheet with the back cushions thrown off; a site probably a bit to comfortable for him to immediately take up residence upon.

I got to the questionnaire and the first question is the big one “Do you believe in God…?” This put me in a bit of a pickle. The choices listed are the standard “Yes”, “No”, and “Maybe So”; none of which I really like and if I bust out with the No or Maybe So choices am I going to get an hour long lecture/pleading to change my answer? I mean they were in my house and they had books with them. For all you who are wondering, whether God exists or not makes no real difference to me; if someone could definitively prove to me the existence of God or the nonexistence of God, I wouldn’t change how I live my life; I really never pay attention to the question. Lacking a suitable name for this belief I came up with my own, I consider myself an apathist .

I know some of you are thinking “whooogh, just a minute, didn’t you work at a Catholic high school?” and the answer is yes; I needed a job. With that said I’m happy to have been at St. Cat’s, I met a lot of great people there; and let’s face it those connections are helping pad my blog readership rolls. I will admit to feeling a little awkward during the more religious moments of my tenure there. Taking their paycheck made me feel obliged to fake it during some of the ceremonies; I did however draw the line at Ash Wednesday, I wasn’t about to finger up the cross on someone’s forehead, I really thought someone more devout should do that. And oh yeah, those times in Appalachia were a little tricky too.

Back to business, I thought long and hard and decided the easiest way out would be to say “Yes” and move on. Whether this was the best way to go or not, I’ll never know. I finished up the 5 other questions (well actually only 4 of the 5, I refused to answer the last one; love that quiet defiance). After this the lady who is doing all the talking asked me if I had a moment. OH NO, what the hell was I going to say to that? “NO, get the hell out of my house”, of course not; it’s impossibly hard for me to be rude to strangers; people I know, I can be rude to, strangers not so much. I know now that I’ve been sucked in and gave a lame, tired reply of “Well, I have a little bit of time”.

(OK it’s at least 2 weeks later now. The good news is the oil tank is full and the house is warm and I finally found where the car wash is on base so the car isn’t the disgusting mess it has been. Being weeks later you may be thinking to yourself “how in the hell is he going to remember all the little details I’ve come to love and expect from this blog”. Well rest your worries, what ever I don’t remember I’ll make up.)

At this point I should probably better describe my three guests. The leader of the pack is obviously a woman named Lee. Why she was the leader I’m not quite sure, maybe because she spoke the best English or perhaps there is more to it; perhaps if you belong to a church who believes the second coming will involve not only Jesus but also his bride, it makes sense for a woman to be out front. Lee is a short, thin woman, maybe mid to late 20’s, with short, I-have-more-important-issues hair. As you may expect she had an intense, focused manner; one of true belief. She wasn’t beautiful and may not even have been good looking, but she had a face I couldn’t look away from; it was the most interesting face and I have no idea why.

The other female was younger, with the more typical, round, Korean face. She was bundled up to the extreme and stood directly in front of me as Lee stood to my right in full sermon. I would later learn her name is Hwang. There are certain people who you can easily tell, love the word. As Lee raced from one passage to the other and as I continued to uncontrollably stare at her trying to figure out what it was about that face that made me want to stare; out of the corner of my eye I could see Hwang with the sweet look of rapture upon her face. She was still but her face seemed to light up and sway with every word Lee would say.

At this point it was really starting to get weird. I was sitting wondering what it was I had gotten myself into. The true believer turned oracle Lee was flying through the bible in hard-to-follow English, trying to sell a story that had something to do with humanities’ oversight of women in the process of salvation, a problem she very well intends to correct. All the while Hwang stood in front of me as some sort of angelic figure whose face continued to rise closer and closer to heaven leaving her overly winterized body behind. But of course the scene isn’t complete without a description of Paul, and I’m not talking about the Apostle.

It was obvious from the moment I opened the door that Paul was the goof of the bunch. The moment I invited them in was met with the loudest head-nodding “Ohhh-hooo-hooo”; to look at his face at that moment could only bring pity. This was a man of much simpler needs; he didn’t seem much worried about God, he was worried about getting warm. As mentioned earlier the other two entered the apartment and immediately took up battle stations; with bible in hand, one was going to convince me of the truth while the other displayed the living beauty of that truth upon her face. And then there was Paul. Upon entering he walked to center of the room and looked around, completely uncaring of my possible spiritual needs. He immediately eyed up the couch and was so plainly wanting to sit but yet stayed standing. For the next ten minutes Paul was pretty much lost to me, my eyes were stuck to Lee and my mind was nearly as stuck save for the few moments I actually tried to understand what she was trying to tell me. Strangely something behind Lee suddenly caught my attention and you can probably figure out it was Paul. By this time Paul has conquered his inhibitions and has sat down on the couch which was really no big deal, unfortunately he really wasn’t sitting still. As Lee was flipping back and forth through her bible calling my attention to a passage right at the very end where it mentions how Jesus AND BRIDE will come again and how this obviously means the old trinity of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost is just simply inadequate and how since the second coming will involve a woman we need to add God the Mother, Paul was swaying back and forth on my couch. He was directly behind Lee in my line of sight so when I saw him it would only be momentarily after which he would disappear and then reappear on the other side of Lee; and sit and sway he would continue.

I must admit I did give up hope. It got to the point I really didn’t know how long I would be stuck with these people; one seemingly off his rocker, one the new female voice of God, and one halfway to Heaven already. Eventually they got to the point of asking me to join their church, to which I thought “what the hell?” and asked them where it was. They did eventually leave but not before leaving their names and number and telling me worship day was Saturday and then assure me they were NOT part of that Seventh Day group. They were nice people but it was good to have them gone and I probably will from here on end, make sure and check the video screen before answering anymore doorbells.

Well there you go, the blog is back and I hope you enjoyed the story. Don’t really know when the next entry will appear but I, right along with you, hope it isn’t very long. I need to thank Hannah and Ellie for their coercive motivation in shaming me into finishing this thing, and Ellie I fully expect to see a new profile picture soon.

Sometimes when the moment comes I don't know it

Well alright! This spent a lot more time in the legal department than originally planned, but hey! here it is. It stretches 6 typed pages so go get your slippers on make a nice cup of tea, your going to be here a while. I hope it’s worth your while.

When first conceived, this blog was meant to serve certain role; it would be my way of sharing all the great experiences that were inevitably going to happen to me while in Korea. Of course it must be this way. I’ve come halfway across the world, great experiences and thus great stories are my right. So far the best that I’ve come up with is eating at the janitor’s house. In hindsight I should have known better; rarely are things the way you expect. I joined the Army for, what seems like now, rather odd reasons. I don’t remember expecting much but ended up living through moments that were more intensely fun than just about any I’ve had since. I joined the Peace Corps with ideas of grandeur in my head and visions of my own greatness. I quickly learned I’m not great and I didn’t do great things, but I loved it none the less. What turned out to be great events were little things like seeing friends, cooking a meal, and getting mail. To choose between the two, Korea is more like the Peace Corps than the Army.

I really have enjoyed writing the stories I’ve written, it brings back memories and beats the hell out of watching lots of TV. TV is my nemesis; it sucks me in but leaves me so empty afterwards. All this presents a bit of a problem, I want to write but don’t have much to write about; that is if I limit myself to Korean affairs. Well you obviously know what’s coming next; I’m not going to limit myself to Korean affairs. There are lots of stories that could be written down. I’ll just wait around and see what’s on my mind and get to work.

At this point I think a disclaimer is in order. Some of these stories will contain alcohol and drug use. I did it, some of it I regret some of it I don’t. It did happen and was a part of some of the big moments of my life. I in no way want to advocate for their usage and it’s not my intention to glamorize their usage; I’ve experienced too much in life to ever do that. With that said I think one of the dumbest things older people can do is to play off to younger people as if these things never happened. They know they did and you make yourself look like a fool and young people have more than enough fools in their lives. Life certainly is about the experiences.

The first of these stories will be how I met Carl.

I first met Carl way back at Christmas time, 1990. I was home on leave from the Army with a lot in my head. I was very excited to come home; things were getting crazy back in Germany. Have you ever had one of those experiences where, despite your best efforts, you just get the math all wrong? Back when I joined the Army I was very sure I didn’t want to go to war; which, when you think of it, makes joining the Army a pretty odd decision. “Well I don’t know what to do, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to go to war. Hmmm what can I do? I could always join the Army; yeah, yeah I could do that.” My great piece of creative logic and rationalization went like this; if we go to war it’s going to be against the Russians and if that happens it will be World War III and everyone will end up getting drafted anyway. Put all that together and joining the Army seemed down right logical.

Let’s get back to those crazy times in Germany. Saddam Hussain (R.I.P) had invaded Kuwait (I really never saw that coming and it really fucked up my whole plan). It looked like we were going to war and all the stupid Peter Jennings, Dan Rather specials were telling us how it was going to be a long, tough fight. There were rumors starting in early December that all leaves were going to be canceled and an even worse rumor that if we did go to war, nobody was getting out of the Army until after it was over (and, it bears repeating, it was suppose to be a long war). The one was bad, the other was absolutely terrible. Screw Christmas, sure I wanted to go, but I had spent two and a half years dreaming about getting out of the Army and now my dreams were crashing helplessly before me. It was really too much for an immature 21 year old to handle.

I spent the weeks prior to leaving holding my breath and nervously monitoring the news. When the rumor proved false and the day arrived, I snuck off to the Frankfurt airport, looked over both shoulders and quietly got the hell out of there.

I’ve never really liked flying, it’s a physically uncomfortable experience, but I’ve always been able to mentally separate and let my mind detangle. On a plane you’re either coming or going and being in between is a perfect time to dream.

Back then I was always excited about going home and, as some of you know, Christmas was absolute magic to me. I remember looking at Sear’s and J.C. Penny’s catalogs as a little kid. I remember waking up way early with my brother Dan and almost peeing myself due to the excitement (sadly Dan actually did pee himself on several occasions). Most of that is gone now. I still fake it and go to Christmas parties and drag students around the school singing Christmas carols, but it’s gone. I do however still like the music, the movies, and the cartoons, all of which still have the idealism that is absolutely lacking from whichever lame Christmas gathering I end up going to. Idealism in my case is completely out of reach.

The Christmas of 1990 was also the first in awhile where the family would be altogether again. A few years earlier my brother Mike had joined the Air Force, my brother Matt followed by joining the Army, a decision I somehow copied, and my brother Dan rounded it out by joining the Marines. That makes for a lot of people in a lot of places, but Christmas 1990 was different.

Seeing my brother Matt again was biggest in my mind. When he finished his Army experience and left Germany we didn’t part on the best of terms for reasons ranging from a girl to my lame attempt at independence. Throughout high school I never really wanted a lot of friends and had no use for being in the “cool” group; I’m sure they had their fun but I wasn’t drawn. I was more than happy hanging out with my brother Matt who had friends, sometimes lots of them and many of the cool type, but I don’t believe they were ever really deep or really strong friendships; I think we both look to each other for that.

One of the places Matt dragged me during my visit home was to the house of this new friend of his, named Carl. It was obvious to me that Matt was excited about new-friend Carl, he said he was a nice guy and that I’d like him. Obviously my brother was overlooking or ignorant of the fact that, at the time, I rarely liked anyone upon first meeting them; a real character flaw of mine at the time, one that would stand true once again.

I was taken to a house in the not-so-good part of town. It was a split-level duplex. We climbed a long staircase to the upper level and entered a room filled with people. Great! a bunch of people I don’t know and don’t really want to know; I was certainly going to have a good time here, wasn’t I? The scene was something to see, it was like a pee-wee flophouse for the junior wing of the Greatful Dead fan club. And when I say flophouse I mean flophouse, the place had that leaving-is-optional look to it. Don’t want to go home? Just find a place to lie, nobody will mind.

My brother Matt entered and was well received. I tried to enter quietly, but there was really no chance of that; visually I didn’t fit in. While I may not have wanted to be IN the Army, at some level I still LOOKED like someone in the Army and looking like someone in the Army was not a description that was going to describe anyone else in the house. There was long hair, there was the I-smoke-a-lot-of-dope unkemptness and a, strange-to-me, everybody’s happy feel to the place; none of which you’ll find in an Army barracks.

Matt found a chair and like an out of its element puppy I stayed close to his side. Soon Carl came over and I was introduced and introduced enthusiastically; I remember that well, a sign of the bond my brother and I had. My first impressions weren’t good; he was a small wiry guy with dark hair everywhere. He went out of his way to be nice to me and the three of us talked for awhile. I would later learn he really wasn’t going out of his way on this occasion; he’s like that with most everyone. The house was full with people and yet this Carl character stayed around talking to us for quite awhile; maybe my brother and he were pretty good friends. I can’t believe he was staying around because of all the interesting things I had to say, cause believe me I didn’t have many interesting things to say that night.

I was trapped in one of those uncomfortable positions; I was some where I really didn’t want to be and had no real way of changing that. I came with my brother and would be stuck leaving with him and he was having a good time so who knows when that would be. This experience and many more like it eventually taught me to never carpool to a party, always bring your car. If you must take something away from this story, take that.

I really never thought I’d have much to do with the guy again, but boy was that wrong. My next encounter with him would come 5 or 6 months later. There were some happy developments in between that made it all possible. “Desert Storm” was a pretty quick storm so by the end of April I was out of Germany and out of the Army. I made it home was back in my Mom’s house with my brother Matt either their or at our Dad’s; we Peterson’s had a hard time leaving the nest. When I got back I hung out with my brother all the time and soon Carl was back in the picture.

The night started uneventful enough, I had been invited to go to the movie with my brother and his new girlfriend, Gina. Meeting us there was to be Carl and possibly others. Who picked the movie I don’t know, but I’m absolutely sure it wasn’t me; it was one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen and surely would have been completely forgotten if not for later events. It was probably my brother Matt, he was definitely one to do whatever it took to make a new girlfriend think he was sensitive or whatever else you hope a new girlfriend thinks of you. He was actually pretty good at it, so for him to sit through the movie probably wasn’t a problem; for the rest of us it was going to be a problem. The movie starred Matt Dillon and Sean Young. Matt Dillon was in “Rumble Fish” and “The Outsiders”, the movie they used to make you watch back in 8th grade after you read the book by S.E. Hilton or somebody. Those were huge roles for a young actor so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Well that was wrong, it was bad; he obviously was going through one of those mid-career low points due to some type of addiction. All I remember of the movie is the two of them get married and it’s obvious one is going to try to kill the other and throughout the movie you’re made to believe she’s the sketchy one, but then at the end she see’s something written on the side of one of the boxcars of a train that’s passing by which triggers some great remembrance and we now know that he’s really trying to kill her so she takes evasive action and blah, blah, blah… A movie that truly let’s you know that the people who make movies think Americans are idiots.

The movie is over, its summer and therefore the night is early, so we decide to go back to Carl’s apartment and hang out. Gina being rather young has to go home. Having just gotten out of the Army a week or two ago I didn’t have a car, so it’s decided I will go with Carl while my brother Matt takes Gina home and meets us later.

A monumental first is about to occur

For the first time in my life I am about to ride in Carl’s Buick Regal, the type of fine American sedan us children of the 70’s came of age in. A piece of shit yes, but a piece of shit with spirit and character; many a drives were taken in that car. I even remember going to the Chicago Jazz fest in it one year. It began overheating while stuck in traffic on an overpass, forcing us to turn the heat on. There we were driving through downtown Chicago in the middle of summer with the heat and blowers going full tilt. I remember trying to sleep in that car the very same night in a parking garage because we were too poor for a hotel. It was a classic. You’re probably not a good American unless you’ve owned a car you’ve loved.

Carl and I arrive at his apartment which was right downtown on 6th St. above a travel agency and across from Monument Square. It’s one of those oddly shaped downtown apartments with rooms either way too large or way too small. I’ve never been much of a conversationalist especially around people I don’t really know so things were a bit awkward. We began telling stories we’re forced to tell because sitting around not saying anything would be even more awkward than they already are. My stories were about the Army and his were about things I’ve long since forgotten. It’s discovered we both like Bob Dylan so The Concert for Bangladesh is placed on the turntable. I ain’t lying, there really was a turntable; he was one of the few people in Racine who not only HAD a turntable, but had a vinyl copy of “The Concert for Bangladesh” to put on it. This definitely helps. My mood is lifted; conversation is a bit easier and a bit freer. Carl get’s up, goes to where ever it is he needs to go, and asks if I want to smoke a joint.

Much goes through my head in a short period of time; I never really liked smoking pot and having just gotten out of the Army, haven’t done it in a long time. Don’t get me wrong, its not as if nobody in Army got high, plenty did but I wasn’t one of them. I remember many a time sitting in someone’s room sharing conversation while they smoked hash out a crumbled Coke can. I was more than content getting really drunk, which seemed pretty socially acceptable to the Army; they certainly weren’t going to kick you out for getting drunk.

Should I, shouldn’t I, should I, shouldn’t I? I’ll do it. We light it up and begin. At first things were really alright. I felt tingly and was really kind of amazed it wasn’t having more effect than it was. However saying yes was a bit like opening the flood gates because as soon as one was finished another was produced. Not feeling too bad, I went along.

A new situation, music is playing, conversation has somewhat run its course, what do you do now? You play cards. I’m pretty sure it was crazy 8’s, and I’m only pretty sure because it was right about this time I started to lose it, and by IT I mean all sense. I think I made it through the first game but by the second things had gotten really weird, I was losing touch; my head began to ring and the straight lines in my mind suddenly became waves. It took all my strength and concentration to play a card game and soon even that was lost. I struggled as hard as I could to keep in the game, but without even realizing it I would drift away. Suddenly I would snap back to consciousness when I hear Carl say “it’s your turn”; by this point I’m so gone I don’t even know when it’s my turn to play in a two person card game.

I don’t know what happens to other people when they smoke, but what happens to me is quite overwhelming. I lose all sense of time, I can’t tell a minute from an hour from a day; a completely bizarre feeling I’ve never experienced with any other drug. Some people may enjoy this but it scares the hell out of me; I’m a bit of a control freak. Worst of all it completely nullifies my best coping mechanism. Whenever I’ve done too much and am feeling low, I always tell myself “it’s O.K., just ride it out, time will make everything alright” Of course when you’ve lost all sense of time this becomes very hard to do; it’s really the only time in my life when I genuinely get paranoid.

The game is mercifully over, a great relief to me. Right at the height of my relief, Carl asks “do you want to play another game?” “No” is all I say, short, simple and probably quite perplexing to him. I’m relieved but I’ve yet to reach the zenith and without the game to concentrate on, I completely lose it. I’m sitting in a chair and the walls start moving in and fading out. Yes, I’m paranoid now and just sit in my chair and close my eyes; I’m checking out.

As I sit there I’m only partially aware of what’s going on around me. My next memory is realizing people are starting to collect in the room. Going over to a friend’s house and finding some strange guy sitting catatonic in a chair must make for quite a scene; and in a very far away, through the fog kind of way, I realize they are talking about me with Carl giving some kind of explanation. I don’t know how long I sat there, but eventually I come back to the world and open my eyes. I feel like a sea-sick survivor, it’s not all back yet but I know I’ve come through. I believe eventually my brother Matt did show up and I’m sure I took great comfort in that.

The reason this story is so endearing to me is because everything that has happened since seems so unlikely. We’ve had many, many good times since then and became very good friends; but because of me, it almost didn’t happen. I was, in my detached way, very reluctant when I first met Carl and I find it hard to believe it ever went beyond the I-got-mind-blowingly-high in his living room story. I felt out of place and didn’t say much at the makeshift house party, despite his obvious efforts to be nice. The next time I hang out with him I turn to mush in his chair. What kind of an impression must have I made?

We are all good and bad in our own ways and hopefully with time we erase some of the bad in us. One of Carl’s true goods is his acceptance and niceness to the people he meets, quite the opposite of the way I was at that time in my life; in this respect we’re friends today because of him. I’ve turned much of that around; I actually like people now.

Well I think we’ve come full circle. I started this out talking about how things turn out different then you think. The blog was conceived for one purpose but used for another, I thought the Army would stink (it did) but had so many fun times, I thought the Peace Corps would be a laugh a minute but it turned out to be rather quiet (in a good quiet kind of way); it’s never how it first seems. And finally another, I was totally unsold on Carl when I first met him but 17 years later he’s still around.

Boy I tell you all this nostalgic talk of Buick Regal’s and benefit albums is bringing back the memories; I’ll share one recommendation with you. You really must go out and find a copy of the film “Action Jackson”; it stars Apollo Creed from the Rocky movies and has been a conversation piece between Carl and I for a long, long time. This might not make sense to you but I once almost remodeled my basement soley because of this movie; ask me about it the next time you see me.

Man, maybe I could make a living out of these "when I first met" stories. If you're tired of reading about people you don't know let me know, I'll whip up a first impressions story about you, but no hard feelings. I might not have liked you when I first met you.

This coming weekend I'm taking a travel to some famous mountain here in Korea. There has to be a blog entery in there somewhere; at the very least some pictures.

Finally (and I really mean finally this time), Karl has promised to share his thoughts and recollections on these events in the “comments” section below; check it out.

Its a world of laughter, a world of tears...

It has been awhile; I realize that and when you’re made to wait you expect something big or good in return. I don’t know if this is going to cut it in that regard; think of this more as a quick little something. I have actually just finished my longest post to date, but it needed to be sent out to the legal division to be OK’ed. Yes the blog has gotten that big; not only do I have a legal office, I also have an office of motivational affairs which basically consists of people sending nasty messages complaining about a lack of action. I’m actually thinking about opening a merchandising office and selling T shirts, they could say

I read
Chapter 7

Then again maybe it should be something more. I wonder if Brian Fry is reading this, he’s been my go to guy for T shirt designs. Maybe we should have a T shirt design contest with the winner receiving a free T shirt and a hearty acknowledgement here on the blog. Post a comment below if it’s just words, if you come up with some big design, email it to me. Joey yours needs to have some sort of NASA reference in it. Maybe something like

NASA only takes me so high
CHAPTER 7
takes it from there

(Yes I do have a friend who works for NASA; I think he’s the guy who decides what music gets pumped into the space shuttle. If you have some ideas let me know I’ll see if I can pull some strings)

Okay we should probably get to today’s story or else this thing could turn into another 5 page monstrosity. The events concerned happened yesterday so everything is fresh in my head.

It was a busy day at Osan Air Base, it was homecoming day for Osan High School as well as AIR POWER day and the first time the base was open to the public since 9/11. I drove the car in early to beat the crowd, parked over by school figuring the other side of base would be crawling with people and then walked over to the fitness center to get fit. Afterwards I was hungry and decided to go on over and get something for lunch. I was feeling full of pep after my workout and was seated at a both just past the hostess; as seats go this was a pretty good one. Almost immediately upon being seated I notice the woman at the next booth staring me down hard, I mean really hard, uncomfortably hard. I figured she must know I just got done working out and gave her a silent hi along with a hand in the air, no movement wave. During this I realized she looked very familiar in a very-familiar-but-I-don’t-know-who-you-are sort of way. I figured it will soon end and begin looking at the menu. Suddenly not only is she staring at me but her daughter, who’s back was to me, has now turned around and is staring at me too.

Another possible T shirt slogan, this one goes back to my Oakland roots

Sorry Miss Jackson
I read Chapter 7

Caught by surprise I pretend not to notice and blankly stare at my menu while trying figure out who this person is. Maybe she’s a parent and the girl is a student at the school? No that can’t be, the girl is maybe 10, she’s not in middle school yet. Think damn it, think! Oh no, I hear something,
“Is your name Kevin?” Holy shit she knows my name.
“Yes, yes it is.”
“How do I know you?”
Alright Peterson, time to throw out your best line; oh shit what is my best line? Oh yeah I remember.
“Well, I have lived on 4 continents”

(For full disclosure that last part never happened, we’ll pick it back up at “How do I know you?”)

Suddenly it all comes back to me in a brilliant flash, much like on a soap opera when some old character that has been gone for 10 years returns because they’ve found out the hard way they’re not really a good actor and a soap opera will have to do.

“You were in the Army, in Germany”, I say remembering her; we were both in the same unit.
“Yes, blah, blah, blahhh blah blahhhh…” After “yes” I kind of stopped listening; I was kind of in shock.

This T shirt slogan is inspired by a T shirt we made in the Peace Corps (this one is less sarcastic)

CHAPTER 7
Frankly, it never disappoints


It’s been 17 years and we’re on a completely different continent, but I end up sitting in the next booth to someone I was in the Army with; small world. (Holy shit again, every time I go into Chili’s something big happens. Why aren’t I eating there more often?)

I’m invited over to her table and we turn the wheels back and start throwing around names we haven’t heard in decades.

Sgt Dumford, she tells me he’s dead; he was a chain smoking no-filter-having fiend who everyone liked, but smoking will do you in. I give her Harney, and Crane and Clyne and Groves, Montoya and Pack. She gives me Ray, and Sadler and some others I’ve already forgotten. She also tells me Capt. Wilcox is now Colonel Wilcox which is something of a relief to me because I really thought we may have ruined his career with some of the stupid shit we did. I honestly figured they had sent him to Alaska to guard some radar site against the reindeer. This always weighed on my mind heavily (OK I’m exaggerating) because I was his driver when he first came to 10th Chem. and he was nice to me. Ahhh I remember many a naps were taken in that old pre-Humvee Chevy Blazer. He would go to some meeting and I would drop the seat back and go to sleep. Of course all this was happening while my friends were out doing something dumb in front of people who had to pretend it was important.

The story gets even better because she ended up marrying a guy who was also in 10th Chem. at the time, Chris Brown who happened to be at the Homecoming football game watching their son play. After we ate we walked over and I got to bring back memories with him who is now a helicopter pilot, a long way from being the mechanic I knew him as in our 10th Chem. days.

And this is yet another example of my being there at the very beginning. A few years back Joey and I went down to Big Sur, California to see our Peace Corps friend Scott get married. He married a girl named Heather who was also in our group in New Guinea. Despite the fact some lame-o friends of Scott tried to run us out of the wedding, Joey and I took comfort in the fact we were there at the beginning unlike these so called friends who came along when the going was good.

And how about Joey and Neelima? Shit, they wouldn’t even know each other if it wasn’t for me; something for which I’ve never received the credit I’m due. When we all lived in Concord it went like this, Neelima’s room, Kevin’s room, Joey’s room. When I left and that buffer was gone, a force took over only I was strong enough to keep at bay.

Matt and Lori? I guess I was sort of around at the beginning. I’ll admit I didn’t have much to do with that one. Now if Matt had married Jackie or what ever the hell that girl’s name was whom Matt took to the Glen Velez concert, then I could truly say I was there at the beginning.

My brother Dan and Debbie? No I wasn’t there for that one, but I was there when Dan showed up with her at my grandma’s house. It was my Mom’s birthday party and Dan was about 2 hours late. My grandma was pissed and just laid into Debbie, OUCH. Debbie probably still needs a little ice to with that burn.

All this is another great reason for me not to get married; I’m so good at making it happen for others and if I were married when would I have time to keep that going?

Alright this is a wrap. This may be the first post that was completed in one sitting. Whew, I don’t know what this means but even my short postings are taking 3 pages. All of you better be appreciating this.

Check back real soon, the next major story will be posted on Tuesday.

Don’t forget about our T shirt contest, I’m telling you this is a million dollar idea. It’s gold I tell you, gold!

Favorite Chapter?
Why Chapter 7
Of Course

Sometimes things really do start with a bang

Sometimes things really do start with a bang…BANG… a flashing pumpkin on the end of a pen greets me, followed by a giggle; all before I ever hear a word from my waitress. The pen had been whacked onto the table and through the joys of science has caused the smiling pumpkin on the end to light up and flash; nothing you’d expect out of a routine sit down at a restaurant, let alone your midafternoon trip to the local Chili’s on some Air Force base somewhere in Korea. The giggle belongs to Alyssa, my waitress, which is something of an oddity in itself seeing as there aren’t too many Korean girls named Alyssa; here you get names like So-Ri or Juen Li or even Hye Kwong; never Alyssa.

I won’t lie to you, this isn’t the first time I’ve been to Chili’s. When I first arrived and was holed up in the base hotel, I came here quite a bit. It’s right in the heart of the base, across from the BX and library, next to the movie theater and in front of the hotel; you really can’t miss it. I know how it is, when you hear someone you know is going to some far off place, you really hope they don’t spend all their time eating at McDonald’s and IHOP; or in this case Chili’s. It was a moment of weakness. I had actually just been off base surrounded by local restaurants, but had to come back on base to pull money out of the ATM which would then be taken back off base and given to the insurance company. It was time to get car insurance; my car has been sitting in Seoul for a week and it was probably time I went and got it; $500 FLYING out of my wallet. It’s a bit depressing, money FLYING out of my wallet here, money FLYING out of my wallet there. When will it end? Starting over can be expensive. My plan had just failed, there is a limit on how much you can withdraw in a day and I had just attempted to surpass that limit. I could certainly still go off base and eat, but what’s the point; screw it, I’ll just go to Chili’s. Instead of bo-kim-bop or bulgolgi, I’ll get a hamburger. And even though I’ve given up french fries, fries will come with the burger, I’ll eat a few, think they’re nasty, and regret the whole thing.

Then again do we ever really know what to expect?

BANG… pumpkin starts flashing, a giggle is heard and Alyssa appears. You can’t just let that go. You don’t whack your pen on a table, make it light up, laugh and then dispassionately ask for someone’s order. It’s not the laws of physics but it’s certainly the laws of sanity. Crazy people do that and I honestly think there aren’t too many crazy people in Korea; they’re all back in the states. Who knows maybe in Korean society crazy people are quietly “taken care of”. Perhaps they’re taken to the North. Alyssa tells me that she got her pen at the biggest amusement park in Korea and that it cost $6.00, that that’s too expensive, and then produces a skeleton pen. From the looks of it this one doesn’t light up.

This is all a bit sudden for me, a second ago I was worrying why my foot hurt, why my money keeps leaving me, and when I’m going to find time tomorrow to get back to the insurance place (and once again, give them a bunch of my money). In times like these the mind doesn’t work too fast. A pumpkin, a skeleton, hhhmmmm? “Do you have a witch pen?”…. That’s what I came up with it. If I had a moment to think I would have laughed pretty hard in my head. Witch pen? Who am I, Homer Simpson? But hey whether it’s a teaspoon or a tablesaw, you can still get started; you just have to have the heart.

Alyssa has been my waitress before and I suddenly remember the bubbliness that goes along with a Korean girl who adopts an American name while working at a chain restaurant on an Air Force base in Asia. And yes, in case you’re wondering, and come on, who are we kidding, of course you’re wondering; she is good looking. If she wasn’t there wouldn’t even be a story to tell, would there? If there was it would go something like this: unattractive waitress acts weird, I efficiently minimize all but the most necessary contact (something I can be quite good at), I eat my food, pay my bill and leave. Life sure isn’t fair and it never will be. I’ve long stopped worrying about that.

It’s not prime eating time; it’s probably around 4:00 and Chili’s would need to be twice as full to even be half full. All this means there is not a lot for a waitress to do, but you have to do something and Alyssa has chosen to talk to me. I learn she is a college student and this is her part-time job. She is studying to be an airline stewardess. As I think now, this should have seemed a bit odd. My brother Dan was an airline steward(ess) for a brief summer and he never did much studying. (I’ll someday have to tell you about the sweet, cheap tickets he got me to San Francisco the summer before last; before the flight home I had a sweet 21 hour stay at the San Francisco airport before saying “screw it” and buying a ticket home on another airline). In any event, Alyssa is studying Chinese, Japanese, and English. At this point Alyssa is doing most of the talking, which is OK because, like I said, she’s good looking. It does dawn on me that eventually I’m going to have to say something or else she’s going to leave which would be bad because, once again, she’s good looking.

As I think I’ve mentioned in a previous posting, one of the true guiding ideas in my life is “when in doubt, do nothing”. I got this from reading War and Peace while in the Peace Corps. Ahhh Joey and I had many a discussion on the simple beauty and effectiveness of those words. It doesn’t sound right, we Americans always want to go out and strangle all our problems, but maybe we got it wrong; after all doctors are told to “first do no harm” which isn’t all that far away from “when in doubt, do nothing”.

The situation I was in was one where this core belief wouldn’t do; I had to say something. “When in doubt, do nothing” not going to work, better move on to the next one. “When in doubt, do the obvious” or in this case, “when in doubt, say the obvious”. I’ve just been told she’s studying three different languages; one of them is English… “You speak very good English”. Can’t get more obvious than that; it’s not really even true, but it will buy me some time. “No, English is hard, I don’t have a tutor”. Holy shit, it did work, the opening is now there. Oh no, danger. The other waitstaff are giving her looks; we’ve both noticed them, she’s going to have to go. This is a bit of a problem because I’m done eating and now is the time in the sequence where the diner gets the check and leaves; of course I have to actually get the check in order for this to occur.

Alyssa is not coming over for conversations, but is quite frequently coming by, collecting my glasses and refilling them. This goes on for quite awhile which is a bit odd. It’s obvious I’m done, the basket is mostly empty (except for the nasty fries, why in the hell did I get them?), my napkins are crumpled up and thrown on top; classic bring-me-the-check signs; except she seems to be refusing to bring the check and somehow justifying this with refill after refill after refill. I’m actually OK with this, it’s quite obvious to me the decision has been made; there is a reason I continue to sit here. There is one slight problem. My usual beverage order consists of a glass of water and a sprite. Here at Chili’s, like so many other places, they put lemon in the water. This bothers me on some level, I actually like the taste of water; the fruit kind of ruins it for me. I solve the problem by transferring the lemon to my sprite; it’s a lemon-lime soda and thus a perfect compliment. The problem is, as Alyssa quickly passes by and swoops up my half-full glasses, there is no time to tell here what I’ve done and thus I get water in my Sprite and Sprite in my water.

Look at me, sitting here (have been sitting here) drinking varying degrees of watered down soda all because I have a good looking waitress. Is this sadness or is it simply a force too strong to resist?

My phone rings, my ride home (my I-don’t-have-to-pay-$5.00-for-a-cab) ride home calls and let’s me know she’ll be in the BX parking lot in 10 minutes. I can’t leave yet, I didn’t sit here for 15 minutes drinking what I’ve been drinking just to get up and leave now. I signal for Alyssa and with that sad, I-don’t-want-to-but-I-have-to look, I say “I have to goooo. But hey, if you need help with your English, I’ll help you.” A little part of me was quietly laughing the whole time I was speaking; laughing and saying “you’re an idiot”. Isn’t it funny how you can have two completely different things going on inside of you at the same time? Alyssa agrees, this would be a good idea. I rustle through my backpack, find a scrap of paper, and write down my number.

Fried eggs, kim chi, and a mysterious jar

It all just sort of fell together tonight; almost to the point where I’m thinking of giving up planning all together. It started as I arrived back at school after picking up some milk from the commissary (with milk going for $3.00 a half gallon, one of the only real extravagances I’ve bowed to over here. I just can’t give up cereal; as a counterweight cereal is dirt cheap, I can get a box of Count Chocula for $1.70). It was late and as I entered I could see my friend Mr. Lee the custodian. Suddenly the lights in the hall went out and we greeted each other in the dark. My reason for returning to school was to collect my bags and packages (it was a good day at the post office) and head across the street to catch a cab home. As we parted he said “it late, you go home”. To this I silently agreed and for no real reason besides just wanting to be nice I replied “are you done with work too?” Even though his English isn’t great, he got the implied message that I wasn’t trying to imply and said “Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, I give you ride home. I’ll be right back, you wait here.” After putting it all together myself I smiled, I was lugging around a back pack, a large duffle bag with packages and a grocery bag so a ride home was sounding right on, and best of all, this would mean I would go the entire day without shelling out for a taxi between work and home (it was my neighbor’s turn to pay the morning fare).

Of course nothing is ever as simply as it appears and I soon found myself joining a daisy chain of people heading toward his car; before we’d be off to my apartment we had to drop off three mama-sans at the front gate. When we arrived at the gate, Mr. Lee said he’d be right and headed off with the cleaning ladies. He was soon back and we were off. Once again with no motive besides comforting small talk, I asked him “where is your house from here?” He once again read what was there to read and replied “Oh I show you my house, I take you”. This was met with mixed feeling on my behalf, it had been a long day and I certainly wanted to get home, but I was curious to see the inside of a Korean house having only ever been inside the places they build with us (and our government’s dollars in mind). In the end it didn’t matter, I knew the die had been cast and I knew where the car was headed.

If you’ve ever been to a China town you know the scene, narrow roads, lots of cars and lots of people. Mr. Lee’s apartment was on the top floor of a three story building. As we remove our shoes and enter we are of course met by his wife, a small, strong woman with a permanent scowl. She speaks no English and I speak no Korean which always makes for a somewhat awkward experience; you throw in the scowl and my nature of not wanting to upset anyone and the experience becomes doubly so. Korean society seems to be of the more male dominated variety, so I figured she was going to be nice to me in a there’s-no-real-way-for-us-to-communicate kind of way (I just hoped she wasn’t cursing me under her breath).

Mr. Lee was one of the first persons who were really nice to me when I got here to Osan Air Base. I had it in my head there would be someone, maybe several people, waiting for me upon my arrival, perhaps with a large welcoming van and a hearty “welcome to Korea, we’re so glad to have you”. Of course what I got was a searing hot asphalt parking lot and a physically and emotionally draining death march to the base hotel weighed down by 100 lbs of luggage. As you can tell I still haven’t forgiven this place for that; I mean seriously, they knew I had no idea what was going on, surely someone could have been there. This is after all what I’ve always received in the past, the Army had someone waiting when I got off the plane in Germany; even the lightly funded Peace Corps had someone with a pickup waiting. It’s just bad manners, but I suppose we should get back to the story.

When I first wandered onto the school grounds Mr. Lee was there to say hello and show me around. A few days later he loaded me into his car and took me apartment hunting. He’s completely uninhibited and went around to the apartment complexes randomly trying door handles and when we came across a vacant apartment we went in. When we found one we liked he went around until he found someone who knew the landlord and before you know it, I’m sitting in an office surrounded by Koreans talking a blurred streak while I run my eyes across the wall looking for something interesting to look at. The best part about Mr. Lee is he’s always looking for an excuse to go do something besides what he’s probably suppose to be doing; the sort of quiet rebellion the world needs. Man I don’t think there was one day while I was in the Army that I wasn’t thinking about how I could escape this stupid task and go do something else. I turned the 30 minute paperwork run into the hour and a half Kleber Kaserne breakfast/paperwork run every Tuesday and Thursday. The reason I never became a famous scientist is because working in a lab sucks and I was always wandering the hallways or skipping out altogether and going to the Brewer game smuggling beverages inside in my pants; definitely one of my two favorite Brewer games, my Uncle Chris can tell you about the other one. All this side talk which really has nothing to do with the story at hand reminds me I need to someday soon tell you my quiet defiance Peace Corps story involving Joey Rios and his favorite invention the air conditioner.

So we’re in Mr. Lee’s house and he gives me the tour and it’s really actually very nice; more so than I thought for a school custodian. He shows me all the family pictures and tells me about his kids who it seems have done quite well for themselves; in fact his oldest was somehow involved in the construction of his building which is why he has such a nice apartment. I ask Mr. Lee if he is from this part of Korea and he says “Oh no, no, no; I from rice paddy. City people no good, they don’t help each other out.” Two things stuck me, first I loved they way he said he was from the rice paddy; it’s sort of like someone from America saying they’re from the country, just way cooler. Second it made more sense why he was being so nice to me; that’s the way it was for him, how people acted toward others.

Next thing you know we are sitting at the kitchen table and food is about to be served. This is where things start to get interesting. Unfortunately I’m hungry and tired so they’ll have to get interesting tomorrow (usually this is the time I would go scramble a couple of eggs for a nice bedtime meal, but that’s not going to happen tonight for reasons that will become clear shortly)

We are now beginning day 3 of this story, it really must be finished tonight.

After the tour we end up at the kitchen table and start eating these large nut-like things. They have obviously been boiled and once you get inside the shell they taste surprising like a boiled sweet potato. I tell you this with great confidence, as a former Peace Corps volunteer in Papua New Guinea I know many things about the taste of boiled sweet potato (and fried dough, but that’s a whole other story; there is surprising variety to fried balls of dough). I soon learn we have been guided to the table for a reason as Mrs. Lee brings two plates of food to the table; I really would have preferred she had brought three plates and joined us, but Korean society doesn’t seem to work like that. On my plate is some very interesting looking purple rice and two fried eggs. Nature is way more amazing then the average American diner would know. I’m sure most think all rice is white except perhaps the Californians with their commune grown organic brown rice. Purple rice? never would have thought it. Once again this took me back to my Peace Corps days during training when we would all meet up after spending time in our respective villages and you would hear crazy talk like “my family served purple kau kau (sweet potato)”. I didn’t really believe it until I saw it for myself and of the sweet potato varieties, the purple were just about the best. The purple rice was actually quite good, it had little extra purple nuggets in it, almost like flavor crystals or the marshmallows you find in Lucky Charms. The eggs were simply eggs, I do prefer my eggs scrambled and find the fried egg fairly tough to get down, but it was obviously a nice gesture and a free meal on top of it.

As I’ve mentioned earlier in this blog, I’m big into fluids and normally follow every bite of food with a satisfying drink. The problem this time was there was no drink... that is until about half way through the meal. After another round of quick fire verbal Korean between the two, a rather strange looking large jar is brought to the table. The jar has all the hallmarks of the kind you see in science fiction movies containing the brain of some unfortunate soul and is topped with a piece of wax paper held tight by a rubber band. Much like the brain-in-a-jar there is something large lurking inside surrounded by a clear slightly off-colored liquid. Once it is set on the table I can that the thing inside is some kind of root. The make shift top is removed and the liquid is carefully spooned into two glasses. Great care seems to be taken in all aspects of the handling of this jar and its contents. Mr. Lee signals his wife to stop adding to his glass and says he’s driving; he doesn’t however make the same request in regards to my glass.

The reverent treatment, the small glasses, the “I’m driving” comment, it was all coming together; this was some kind of mysterious homemade hooch. Mr. Lee signals to me, we raise the glasses and drink. The texture is somewhat thick and the taste very earthy, almost papery. Surprising and fortunate is the lack of any feeling of harshness I felt sure would follow. It wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t good, but considering the jar it came out of, I was somewhat at ease. The added bonus of it all was I know had something to drink, a real plus considering the fried eggs and the damn fried yokes that came along with them which were starting to test my stomach in a way that if failure occurred, it would be most unfortunate.

What I failed to mention earlier was the reason we ended up at the table in the first place. Before entering his building Mr. Lee showed me his adjacent garden and its multiple leafy contents his wife turns into Kim chi, the most iconic of Korean dishes. My reply was that I hadn’t had Kim chi yet which was all that really needed to be said. Coming from the rice paddy, he assured me his wife made great Kim chi which turned out to be right on the mark.

It was really one of the more all-over-the-place meals I’ve ever eaten: bland rice, stomach churning egg yolks, cold spicy pickled leafs of some kind, and fermented ginseng to wash it down. With each bite the eggs were harder and harder to get down, but I persevered and made it very near the end. This did however come at a price. The continuous sips I was taking from my glass began to lead to a slow wave of disorientation rising up my spine headed straight for my head. I hadn’t mixed alcohol and food so thoroughly since the whiskey waffles I used to make in the Army.

Now I’ve been drunk before but this was something strangely different. It was a very warm almost trippy feeling and it slowly flowed over my head like a warm blanket. This was no ordinary blanket with the standard scene of flowers or racing stallions, this was a warm blanket with a picture of old men and giraffes sitting together on top of a felt table laughing; it really made no sense and my mind couldn’t seem to wrap itself around it.

The newness of the experience made it all the more baffling. I really didn’t want to get drunk let alone looped into a world I’d never been. There is I guess two ways to handle a situation like this, you can mentally fight the oncoming rush or you go along for the ride. I thought to myself what w ould my friends do in such a situation? What would Geisler do? Well the answer to that is pretty obvious. What would Rios do? Completely different answer but just as obvious (now if I was on an international flight, things would be a bit more uncertain). Nope, I was on my own here. I chose to fight, but there really is no guarantee you’ll win. I distinctly remember putting up just such a fight many years ago while listening to the Concert for Bangladesh and playing cards with some guy named Matt who would later become my friend. I lost that fight like no fight has ever been lost in the history of the world. I sat there half catatonic having no idea when it was my turn to lay down a card. This time was different, I felt aware and hopeful about my situation. There was only one stumbling block in my way; only one but a fairly big one, the half full glass in front of me I knew would have to be finished.

Suddenly my heart began to sink; coming toward me in dazed slow motion was a frying pan full of fried eggs. The spatula came out and two freshly greased fried eggs were carefully placed on my plate followed closely by another helping of purple rice. The site alone of all that food on my plate was nauseating, but I was aware enough to know I had no choice; it had to be eaten. I began to swirl the rice with my fork and then swirl it some more, just because you know something must be done doesn’t make it easy to do. I eventually got to work and each bite was once again followed by a sip from the glass I wanted desperately to avoid.

By this time my mind and my stomach were completely out of synch, my minding seeing weird things and wondering if it should fight till the end, or just let go and see where it was taken. My stomach on the other hand was engaged in a slow churn, every bite of egg was forcing the contents of my stomach further and further into my throat. At was at this point I knew something must be done; going down meekly is not something I’ve ever subscribed to.

My big break came when Mr. Lee got up, walked to the edge of the kitchen and began speaking to his wife. It was obvious the rest of this drink had to go, but where? I could pour it into Mr. Lee’s glass; that wouldn’t work, he made a big production of finishing his drink. Time was surely running out and I was completely at a loss… until I stretched my head around the corner and looked into the living room. Sitting right at the junction of the two rooms allowed me arm’s length access to the living room. As luck would have it there was an aquarium nearby. Now before you jump to any conclusions, I didn’t dump it into the fish tank. Standing next to the tank was what looked like a cylindrical garbage can. As I peered at it I only see the inside of the top portion and was unsure whether it was actually a garbage can or a storage container of some sort. Looking back at Mr. Lee and ensuring he was preoccupied, I leaned over as far as I could for a better look. About midway down there appeared to be discarded tissue paper; I couldn’t see to the bottom and therefore be sure, but with the situation critical it would have to do. I quickly grabbed the glass, leaned over and let fly into the garbage can. The whole time this was happening I had vivid thoughts of the time, years ago, when I was out with my friends Matt and Lori Geisler who both wanted very much to do a shot which I wanted no part of. The pressure put on me was annoying so I said I’d do it, but when the time came to throw it down, I threw it over my shoulder instead. Of course I was totally busted by Lori and it still comes up in conversation from time to time. The deed was done; I quickly returned the glass to the table and was comforted to find Mr. Lee oblivious to it all.

Mr. Lee eventually returned to the table and normal eating activity was resumed. By this time I was picking at my food, crying inside with the thought of more fried egg. I then noticed something horrible. As I has eaten this second helping and neatly yet subconsciously eaten around the yolks and was now left with a pile of rice and two neatly excavated fried yolks; the rice was of no concern, that could be downed without a blush. The yolks on the other hand would never in a million years stay down. Brilliant thoughts suddenly entered my head. I had been in this situation before and came out the other end. When much younger and eating at our Dad’s, my brothers Matt and Dan and I made a true art out of concealing food we didn’t want to eat. This is the route I would have to take. My mood lightened and I even chuckled internally as I thought of the Seinfeld episode where he stashes mutton into his jacket.

With swift smooth motion a napkin is transferred from the table to my lap; man I was still good at this; quiet defiance, once again the hallmark of my life. I suddenly felt strong and invincible. I comfortably returned to talking to Mr. Lee, waiting and watching. Every time he looked away I smoothly transferred yolk from plate to napkin; after a few waves of the hand the task was complete. The napkin was neatly folded and tucked into a pocket and triumph was mine. The anxiety I felt was gone, I was able to relax and enjoy the disorientation I had so recently fought.

In retrospect I understand why I couldn’t say no and I understand and appreciate the generosity that was shown to me. I was later told by another that the serving of ginseng was something of an honor; you didn’t do this for the casual guest. And of course life isn’t about getting even with those that have helped you but rather bringing it forward to those you are about to deal with. With this in mind when I get a place of my own I want to be just like Mr. Lee; whatever I have will be on offer and fried eggs will be served in abundance.

p.s. I don’t make Kim chi so don’t expect any

Holy hell, I can’t believe it took me 5 pages and thirty-four hundred words to tell this story. I seriously need an editor