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.