myself a day off from the low carb life.
Son Kevin prepares the bird for its destiny…
Fry me to the moon…
Ready and willing to be served…
a bountiful spread of opportunity to over indulge…
the plate that I ate. Well, the plate was all I didn’t eat…
A fine, fine day. Thanks to Lauren and Kevin and family and friends for making it all so good!
In this exciting episode of The Adventures of LTG we go grocery shopping!
Finding the larder at the Little House on the McCrarey was in a seriously depleted mode, the wife and I took to the highway for some hunting and gathering. First stop was the Korean market.
Jee Yeun’s home away from home.
It seemed we needed just about everything they sold.
One hundred fifty dollars later we loaded our burden up and carted it out.
Although two large jars of Kimchi may seem excessive, that’s only a one month supply for Jee Yeun. One radish, one cabbage.
We also scored us a nice thick slab of samgyapsal.
Bringing home the bacon!
Having taken care of the Korean specialty foods, it was off to the American supermarket for the rest of our necessities. Now, I’m a Publix kind of guy, but Jee Yeun wanted to score some galbi and Bi-Lo is the only store in town that slices short ribs in a proper Korean fashion.
In addition to our standard grocery list, I picked up the ingredients for my Aunt Pat’s recipe fruit salad, my contribution to the family Thanksgiving feast next week.
Having loaded the shopping cart to near capacity, it was time to check out. Now, I’m not going to rant about it (much) but one thing that I find irksome about the American shopping experience is that stores are going big on this “self checkout” system. As a matter of principle I refuse to ring up my own groceries. But the bastards make you suffer for your insolence by only manning the bare minimum of cashier operated checkouts. Today they had two lanes open and one of those was for fifteen items or less. One person was in the 15 item line, and there were several in the regular lane. So, a manager walks by and observes my frustration and directs me to the short line, despite the fact that I was several times over the stated maximum for items.
I sensed there would be trouble, but I followed the manager’s instructions. The customer in front of me was an older (than me) woman with two items that had already been rung up. So, we proceeded to load the conveyer belt to overflowing with our 100+ items. And waited. And waited. I’m not sure what was going on, but the woman was fumbling around in her purse for what seemed like an entirety. I guess she was looking for her Bi-Lo discount card. Finally, the cashier tried to look her up in the system without success. And then a discussion ensued as to whether the purchased items were even eligible for a discount. The woman finally decided that she would pay, and proceeded to count out the correct amount at a pace that seemed to make my head want to explode. And I’m talking about the bills. When she went rummaging for her change purse and then started counting out each individual coin I was reduced to reciting the serenity prayer repeatedly. To no apparent effect. Meanwhile, customers with 15 or fewer items were coming up, looking at our pile, and giving me the evil eye. I know what they were thinking, because lord knows, I’ve had those same thoughts when I was on the wrong side of a misbehaving customers. When you don’t follow the rules established for the grocery checkout the very fabric that binds society together begins to unravel. Yeah, there was definitely murder in the hearts of some Bi-Lo customers today.
But here’s the kicker. When the old woman was finally done with her transaction, she turned to me and said “I thought this line was for 15 items or less!” Now, I might have just ignored the comment, but then the checker said “yeah, I know.” So I remained relatively calm but gruffly pointed out that I had been directed to this line by the store manager. They both then professed to have only been “joking”. Yeah. Ha ha. Good one.
Anyway, as my purchases were rang up I had to do my own bagging (another downside of the 15 item line). I had bought two bottles of wine on sale and the cashier said if I buy four I get another 10% off, plus a nifty little carry sack. So, I sent Jee Yeun running for two more. As she placed the wine in the nifty little carry sack the cashier asked “now will you smile?” So, I mustered up my best fake smile ever and rolled on out of there.
And to think that some people believe retired life must be boring!
Ventured out to the annual Korean festival here in Columbia. As close as I’m going to get to the real thing for awhile. Apparently.
Where ever I go these days it seems I’m surrounded by fans…
Jee Yeun had some bulgogi and rice…
…and ddukbboki. Me? I had chicken on a stick, just like the old days on the mean streets of Itaewon…
A lonely singer performing a mournful Korean song…
What’s a festival without a fan dance?
Didn’t know they even had a Korean school in Columbia. But it was nice to see so many hanguk-saram in my midst again.
The highlight of the day for me was nailing parallel parking on my FIRST try!
…wishes you a happy Halloween!
From the gallery of Trevor King.
Amongst my admittedly small social circle are several folks whose career path has led them to join the ranks of academia as university professors. I’m sorry to admit I know little of their individual journeys and the challenges they faced and overcame along the way. So I really appreciated this post written by Dr. Colby King, recently ensconced at Bridgewater State University in Massachusetts. I’ve always had a great deal of respect for Colby, especially because he is one of my few left-of-center friends who is willing to actually engage in a serious discussion of some of the issues facing our nation. We rarely reach agreement but we do find on occasion some common ground or at least mutual understanding of our respective viewpoints. Most importantly, I always learn something new and for that he earns my gratitude. My respect and understanding were greatly enhanced after learning more about his personal story. I encourage you to give it a read.
Being the selfish bastard that I am, Colby’s story set me to thinking of my own. I grew up in an upper middle class area of Orange County, California. But our family was definitely working class. My father was managing a fast food restaurant when I was born. After a McDonald’s opened across the street from his store, “The Rite Spot”, there was a futile burger war (it’s hard to undercut a 15 cent hamburger) and my father moved on to driving a truck in route sales. My mother supplemented the family income first as a carhop and later working the night shift in a factory.
We always had food on the table (lots of fried chicken and ground beef). We had a roof over our heads (a rented roof of a 1940s era house surrounded by fancy new subdivisions). And we had clothes on our backs (in my case usually hand-me-downs). So we weren’t “poor” in the classic sense of the word, but comparatively speaking we were amongst the poorest people in our community.
Kids can be cruel, and they were at times. I recall classmates mocking “the shack” in which we lived. And since my clothes were functional but not fashionable (and cleaned at the local laundromat) I took some heat for that too. One painful memory from sixth grade was the day I wore some shoes my uncle brought home from the store where he worked. They were a little too large for me, but they were new. And I guess maybe they didn’t really go that well with the blue jeans I invariably wore to school. Anyway, we were lining up for class and all the other kids pointed at my shoes and started laughing uproariously. The teacher came out to see what all the commotion was, took a look at my shoes, and laughed too. Needless to say, that was the first and last time I wore those shoes. They looked something like this:
A painful memory. Looking back on it now, maybe I would have laughed too.
Then there was the 7th grade math teacher (Mr. Peter Boothroyd the bastard) who found it appropriate to discipline misbehavior in his class by announcing “keep it up McCrarey and you’ll wind up like your father–selling Jello out of a truck.” Suffice to say, by the time I finished high school I had developed a pretty healthy inferiority complex. Which I self-medicated with copious amounts of pot smoking.
I floundered around some after graduation, taking a few classes at the community college but mostly just getting high and doing whatever minimum wage gigs I could find. My daughter was born one week after I turned 20 and that kicked in a new found sense of responsibility. So, I found a job in route sales (fuck you Boothroyd!) and actually did pretty well at it. I took the Postal Service entrance exam and after a couple of years was hired as a letter carrier. I was finally on my way!
I subsequently added a son to my family, transferred to Prescott, Arizona, and bought my first house. I was living the American dream and was content to spend the rest of my life carrying mail and enjoying what for me was the best life I had known. Then the marriage fell apart and I wound up with custody of both kids. I started dating a grad student (I wrote about her in some detail here) and hanging out with her college professor friends at Northern Arizona University. And probably for the first time in my life I started to realize that these people I admired were not better, or necessarily smarter, than me–just more educated. So, it was back to the local community college for me!
The grad student relationship ended badly and left me pretty much emotionally devastated. Being a single father was more than I could handle, so I transferred to Oklahoma (technically Fort Smith, Arkansas) so my mom could lend me a hand with the kids. I was still delivering mail, but now I was doing it in stifling summer humidity and winter ice. Made the job a lot less appealing! Worst of all it was not mentally engaging. As I carried my mail route I’d imagine doing things that I’d actually like to be doing. And suddenly, I’d have completed my rounds and not recalled actually having done so. I was just in automatic mode, mental masturbation if you will. So, I realized that I needed to make a change in my life, but had no idea what exactly to do.
One perk of being a mailman (especially a single mailman) is that you tend to meet a lot of women along the route. One of these was Iris Breed, the Director of the Fort Smith Girls Club. One of the smartest people I’ve had the good fortune to meet on this road we call life. We began dating and I shared with her my general dissatisfaction with the malaise of my career. She said why don’t you take a management job? Well. I mean, who’d want a guy like me on the management team? Besides, I was the union steward. Working in management was against everything I stood for! But she continued to encourage me and pointed out that the only thing I truly lacked in life was the confidence to pursue my goals. So, when a job came open to manage the safety program I applied. I knew nothing about safety management, but at least I felt like I could continue to support the rank and file from inside the beast.
Bobbie McLane was the Human Resources director and I had met her often when I dealt with her on union issues. I guess she liked how I handled myself in those meetings because she took a leap and actually hired me. And sent to the USPS Management Academy in Potomac, MD for several weeks so I could actually learn how to do the job. I’m forever grateful to her for giving me that chance to be more than what I had been. But the rest was up to me.
And I did alright I guess. I was promoted to a labor relations position in Columbia, SC. I went back to school (at an actual university–Go ‘Cocks!) and finally earned my bachelor’s degree in 1991 (at the tender age of 35). After that, more promotions found me in D.C. where I took advantage of a management development program and graduate degree studies. Thirty-four years after first putting on that letter carrier uniform I retired as GS-15 Director of Human Resources for the United States Forces Korea.
What a ride it was! I had some luck along the way. And help and encouragement from people that saw in me things I didn’t see in myself. But ultimately, it was up to me to overcome my self-imposed limitations and find a way to achieve my potential. Being from a working class background made that more of a challenge I suppose, but I’d argue that it wasn’t really society that put me in the box. It just took some time to understand that no one can define who you are or what you can be, unless you give them that power. Which sounds pretty simple when I write it now. But learning that proved to be my life’s greatest achievement.
This simple paragraph embodies what I dislike most about life in America:
Whatever virtue this bad-tasting Z-grade atrocity once contained derived from its exemplification of a set of certain cherished American fables—immigrant ingenuity, the cultural melting pot, old things combining into new things—and has now been totally swamped and consumed by different and infinitely uglier American realities: the commodification of culture; the transmutation of authentic artifacts of human life into hollow corporate brand divisions; the willingness of Americans to slop any horrible goddamn thing into their fucking mouths if it claims to contain some byproduct of a cow and comes buried beneath a pyramid of shredded, waxy, safety-cone-orange “cheese.”
Now, obviously he’s talking about food here, Cincinnati-style chili to be precise, but it also captures the homogenization of American culture that I detest. Everywhere I go it’s just more of the same. Chain restaurants, impersonal franchised bars, strip malls, ugly signage, and other non-distinct urban clutter. We’ve lost what once made us diverse and unique. Even regional accents are fading away. Alas.
Anyway, this rant is brought to you courtesy of this state-by-state ranking of the culinary delicacies that the natives claim as their own. South Carolina came in second with shrimp and grits. And I detest grits. Which outs me as a non-native more often than I like. Anyway, it’s a fun read.
Bon appetit!
Hat Tip: Althouse
I hope you’ll indulge a proud papa. And the Gamecocks come away with a huge win to boot. Wal-Mart is big in Fayetteville? Who knew?
A friend from Georgia was in town last night and stayed at our place. He wanted to treat us to dinner, so we took him out to our favorite Korean eatery here in town, the Korean Garden.
Justin had never enjoyed the Korean dining experience before so it was a lot of fun watching him get so excited about all the side dishes and the unique flavor of Korean meats and stews. We ordered up a little of just about everything–jumuleok, L.A. galbi, bulgogi, doinjang jiggae, kimchi jiggae, and a yakimundo appetizer. It was all good, and it was nice to wash it down with an ice cold Hite beer.
After our feast, it was off to the Kwagga Sports Pub for our regularly scheduled Wednesday night darts. I was off my game which is pretty frustrating given all the time I’ve invested in practice. Justin played well enough to make it to the finals. When we got home Justin suggested we play a few games for money. I reluctantly agreed.
I almost never bet on my games this way. The thrill of competition is all the motivation I require. Now, I’ve seen lots of guys play head-to-head for big money (I’m talking several hundred dollars here) and that certainly takes the “friendly” out of the game. Anyway, Justin wanted to play for ten bucks a game and it was on. Did I mention we had sipped a little whiskey before we started? That and some beers. So, neither of us was feeling any pain. But I wound up putting a hurtin’ on him anyway. As bad as my darts had been at Kwagga earlier in the evening, they made a miraculous recovery back at the house. After I took the first three or four games, Justin wanted to up the ante to twenty bucks. So, we did and I won again. It was now getting close to 2:00 a.m. and we mercifully came to the mutual decision that we were finished with darts for the day.
He made a few comments in jest this morning (at least I hope it was in jest) about my cleaning out his wallet, and I really did feel kind of bad about it. Which is the main reason I don’t like to play for money that way. The money was not at all important to me and I would have not minded giving it back. But I think there is a certain etiquette involved in gambling and I wasn’t wanting to offend him by making that offer. Jee Yeun told me after he left that she slipped twenty bucks into his bag. So, I guess she felt guilty about it too.
Ah well, more darts on tap tonight at State Street Pub. I wonder which game will show up this time.
…but I am! More or less.
It’s the first of the month and that means payday! Not sure if the shutdown will affect next month’s pension check, but I’ll worry about that, well, next month.
So it was off to my credit union to pull out some cash. And seeing as how the credit union is right next door to Sam’s Club, we dropped in to do some buying in bulk. And given that Sam’s Club is in the vicinity of the Korean market, I took Jee Yeun there to restock her supply of kimchi, noodles, and various and assorted other items. Over a hundred bucks worth!
Returned home and drafted up some rules and bylaws for the Columbia Area Darts Association. Tried to keep it simple and straightforward. Still took 8 pages to say what I felt was the minimum to say.
Having worked up an appetite, I cooked up a nice taco salad for my first meal of the day. Well, I didn’t cook the lettuce, but you get my meaning.
Having satiated my hunger, I had the energy to write this post. And now I’m fixin’ (damn, I’ve been in South Carolina too long!) to head out for an evening of darts.
And that’s where things stand in my neck of the woods.
Portrait of the blogger at work.
It occurs to me that I ought to be posting something here at LTG. The problem is every time I sit down to share the juicy details of my most interesting life here in the USA I have to face the sad fact that there aren’t any. I’ve been working on a political post for a few days, but frankly I’m in so much despair about the state of our nation that I just can’t bring myself to finish it. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I care too much. Ah well.
My biggest fear when I retired and moved back to the states was that I would get sucked into the mundane and vanilla lifestyle that is so uniquely American. I had hoped to counter that inevitability by spending significant parts of the year back in Korea. Unfortunately, Uncle Sam has illogically tied my departure to coincide with with the issuance of my wife’s green card. Last I heard from the government they advised it would likely be February before a decision was made. And of course given the dysfunction of the bureaucracy that’s probably optimistic.
Which is not to say that I haven’t been making the best of things during my sojourn in the United States. I’ve been working hard at building a vibrant darting community here in my hometown of Columbia. I’ve got things to the point where I can now play four times a week (versus the previous one) without leaving the Midlands. That was pretty much my darting schedule in Korea, so I reckon I’m generally satisfied. And I guess I’ve made some new friends and acquaintances along the way, so I’m happy about that.
But I’m missing my Korea life quite a lot and can’t help but feeling sometimes like the world is passing me by while I’m stuck here in South Carolina. To be sure, there are worse places to be stuck. It’s just not in my nature to be happy about being stuck anywhere I suppose.
There you have it. A post about nothing noteworthy. Which certainly is in keeping with the fine tradition I’ve established here at LTG.
No, I didn’t spend a day at the park. Too damn dangerous! What with all the decapitations. Not to mention the unspeakable danger of sunbathing.
Some days it just doesn’t pay to leave the house I guess.
Hat tip: Drudge
The collapse of Detroit has of course been much in the news of late. Detropia does a nice job of documenting the decline of this once great city. A quick Google search reveals hundreds of articles and opinion pieces from all points on the political spectrum pontificating about the root causes of Detroit’s death spiral and its implications (or lack thereof) for the rest of America. Paul Krugman (bless his Nobel Laureate heart) weighed in blaming the fall of Detroit on urban sprawl (shhh, nobody tell Los Angeles!). All of which of course ignores the elephant that truly devoured Detroit: political corruption, union cronyism, and irresponsible short-sightedness of greedy corporate executives. Or take your pick. See, there’s plenty of blame to go around.
But really, as Hillary Clinton might say, what does it matter now? Our focus should turn to how we fix the mess that was once one of America’s richest cities. Now, the mayor of Boston had a pretty good plan–blow it up and start all over again. Assuming that course of action may be a bit extreme for my gentle readers, let’s look for something else. A Facebook friend posted this story on why Toronto is succeeding while the rest of the rust belt is, well, rusting. The solution proposed is to bring in a bunch of immigrants and repopulate the city. Which is a fine plan I suppose except for the parts about there being no jobs and the city can’t be expected to provide much in the way of social services when it can’t even keep the streetlights burning. Lord knows though, there is plenty of available housing. Unfortunately, Detroit can’t even give houses away these days because no one can afford the outrageous property taxes. So, adding more jobless people (even if they are not homeless) won’t fix Detroit’s problems.
We need a radical solution here and after stewing on the problems for awhile I came up with a plan. Let me present to you The Free City of Detroit. My idea is sort of built around the concept of Free Trade Zones, but with much, much more to entice people, and just as importantly, businesses and manufacturing back into this forlorn and nearly abandoned city.
Here’s how it works. Residents of Detroit will still have to pay federal and state income taxes (I just don’t see a Constitutionally viable way around that). However, under the Charter of the Free City of Detroit all those taxes will be refunded to the city. With that money the city will be able to provide necessary services and infrastructure making the city a much more pleasant environment in which to live. But more importantly, the city would not be permitted to impose any additional taxes on people or businesses. No sales tax, no property tax, no business licensing fees, no corporate taxes. It’s a Free City after all. Any federal or state tax dollars not spent by the city would be returned to the people–not unlike what Alaska does with it’s oil revenues. Think about it–you could actually be paid to live in Detroit! It would also be a good way to keep the politicians in check (more on that later)–the people would not stand idly by when money is wastefully spent that would otherwise be in their wallets. The beauty is that the more people who move back to Detroit (along with the businesses that support and employ them) the richer the city becomes.
But wait there’s more! In a Free City the only laws that would be enforced are those reasonable and necessary to protect property and the people from violence. Gambling, prostitution, drugs–all legal in the Free City of Detroit! No longer will residents be victims of victimless crimes. Just making drugs legally available would go a long way to reducing violent crime. Here’s some science to back up that claim. Who wouldn’t want to live in a libertarian paradise like the Free City of Detroit?
Alright, let me answer the questions the preceding paragraph may have sent careening through your brain. Most federal laws and regulations would still apply, unless specifically exempted by Congress. I’m not looking to have workers unprotected, so OSHA standards would remain in place. And any racists out there should not rejoice, the equal protection clause of the Constitution (and all other Amendments) would guard the rights of all citizens. Feel a little better now?
But what about jobs? Detroit didn’t lose it’s historic manufacturing base because of some inescapable natural phenomenon. Rather they were driven away by an unholy trinity of high taxes, unsupportable wages and benefits, and corporate greed. Well, I’ve already addressed the tax issue. Michigan has adopted right-to-work laws which should keep jobs protected from unscrupulous union demands. And hell, corporate greed is what will bring the jobs back! Automobile manufacturers are building cars for a profit in Tennessee and Alabama. If you make it cheaper to build them in the Free City of Detroit, they’ll come rushing back to do so.
Finally, the toughest nut to crack might be political corruption. Lord knows that played a significant role in the demise of old Detroit. So, I propose a five member board of governors to rule the city. And given that I have a certain fondness for democratic principles, the Chair of that board would be elected. The other four would be appointed to represent the various constituencies with an interest in the health and welfare of the city: one from the State, one from the Feds, one for corporate interests, and one for small business owners. They would be required to manage the city in strict accordance with the terms of the Charter, and no funds could be dispersed for any purpose other than for the overall interest of the city at large as determined by a majority of the Board of Governors. As a safeguard, the Board would also be limited to 3 year terms with no reappointment or reelection. Not perfect, but what is in this world?
So there you have it. A viable plan to save the city of Detroit by destroying it (without bombs of course!). And from the ashes of failure a new and free Detroit will arise, built on the principles of freedom, justice, and good old fashioned American ingenuity. Have you heard any better options?
Yes we can! Do we have the courage and foresight to try another way?
Fans of LTG will recall that I’ve been working hard to bring the sport of darts back to Columbia in a big way. Well, truth be told even a small revitalization will be a helluva lot more than we have. With either of those ends in minds, we recently founded the Columbia Area Darts Association, or as the lazy amongst us affectionately call it, CADA.
Knowing that taking care of the important details is the first step on the road to success, I undertook the effort of having a logo designed. Lacking any relevant and necessary skills to complete such a project, I did the next best thing: I asked for bids at a website called DesignQuote.net.
Most of the bids were ridiculously expensive, but two came back with quotes that were comparatively reasonable. Unable to decide who to pick, I set them both to work. A little design competition if you will. Now, I already had a concept in mind. Back in those heady days of the 1980s when darts actually existed in Columbia the organization used this:
Old school graphic design. Ugly, but functional I suppose
I actually think it’s pretty damn awful. Still, Columbia is a fine city and all, but when it comes to recognizable landmarks, it’s tough to beat the State House. I just needed to pretty it up some. Here’s what I sent my designers as a starting point:
Hey, don’t laugh! I told you I had absolutely zero talent as an artist…
What the State House actually looks like:
Right smack dab in the middle of Downtown Columbia
So, the first designer offered me this:
Well, I guess you could say it is what I asked for, but it really wasn’t what I wanted. Know what I mean?
With the State House in silhouette, it could be any damn building. It was just not the “distinctively Columbia” look I was going for.
So, designer number 2 came up with this rendition:
Ah, my vision becomes reality at last!
Alright, that’s more like it, don’t you think? Not perfect, but as we used to say in the Federal government, “it satisfices”.
Hey, speaking of logos, did I mention that CADA is now officially a member of the American Darts Organization (ADO). Well, we are. That’s the big time, baby!
We’ve only just begun, but we are on our way!
Pat, the elderly widow next door, called me yesterday morning. She’s been spending the summer with her kids in Cape Cod. Anyway, she reported that a woman down the street had observed a U-Haul truck in her driveway. She told me that she had no idea who had parked it there and asked if I would investigate. I had to admit it sounded pretty suspicious.
This is one of those times I wish I had a handgun readily available. I briefly considered taking my single shot .22 caliber rifle out of the closet, but figured that was likely to cause me more trouble than it would help should a gun battle break out. So, I walked over and peaked in the windows of the house, but saw nothing unusual taking place. I checked the back gate and it was also secure. Then I did a walk around the truck and observed the back door was padlocked. I looked in the driver’s side window and saw a stack of mail on the passenger seat. I moved over to the passenger side for a closer look and sure enough the mail was addressed to my neighbor. It seemed like an awful big truck for a mail heist.
I went back inside my house, retrieved my phone , and called Pat to report my findings. She asked that I keep an eye out and call the police if I spotted anyone. With her still on the phone I walked back outside just as a car was pulling up in front of her house. A young man got out of the passenger seat and I asked him what was up. He told me he was Pat’s grandson and he had rented the truck to move some patio furniture. I put him on the phone with Pat and heard him say “hi Nana, I’m picking up the patio stuff.” They talked a couple of more minutes and he gave me back my phone. Satisfied that nothing untoward was taking place I left him to his business.
In other news, the scale was not kind to me this week. While disappointed, I’m not particularly surprised. I had company during the week which put me off my exercise routine, and I did drink a couple of smoothies. Net result was a one pound gain which puts me back to 235. I do believe these next 20 pounds are going to be a bitch. My body seems to think my current weight is most excellent and it reminded me that I am after all back in my 38″ waist jeans. I responded “fuck that, we are going DOWN!”
Onward and downward!
Oh boy. It’s a sedate, if not serene, lifestyle I’m living in retirement. At least as far as the USA iteration goes. Hold on to your hats, here’s how my Friday went down.
The day started with me going to bed at 1:00 a.m. Sometime during the night a heavy rain began to fall and continued throughout the day. I was awakened around 6:30 by a persistent chirping. I looked at the bedside clock and it was dark, so I realized the power had gone out at some point. I couldn’t get back to sleep because of the chirps emitting from somewhere in the house every minute or so. After 15 minutes the cobwebs in my brain had cleared out enough for me to grasp that the incessant noise was coming from my security system. When the power goes out it chirps out its warning for as long as the back-up battery lasts. Duh. Rolled out of bed and reset the alarm, and then returned to my peaceful slumber.
I re-awoke at 9:00 and turned on the coffer maker/grinder. Damn thing sounds like a jet taking off. Fortunately our house guest Corine, who is visiting from Maryland, was already up and preparing for her long drive home. My only real complaint about my ATT Uverse internet service is that every time there is a power interruption my personal wireless network disappears. And sure enough, it was gone again. My efforts to restore it were fruitless so I called the tech support folks. And spent an hour and fifteen minutes on the phone trying to get the network back up. We eventually managed to get my computer back on line, but the other devices (Jee Yeun’s laptop, Corine’s Ipad, and my Roku) would not connect. I had an appointment to get to, so the tech promised to call me back at 1:00. He didn’t.
I needed to get Jee Yeun to her physical therapy appointment, so we said our goodbyes to Corine and headed up the highway in the pouring rain. I snoozed in the car while Jee Yeun had her shoulder worked on. On the way home we stopped at Walgreen’s for a carton of smokes.
Back at the house, we did a reboot of Jee Yeun’s computer and this time it connected to our wireless network. Hooray! I had a chef salad for lunch and did a little internet surfing. I put out some feelers for a graphic designer to come up with an appropriate logo for the newly formed Columbia Area Darts Association. The bids are coming in at around $250. Since I’m paying for this work out of pocket I’m hoping to get someone for closer to $150. I mean, I have the vision, I just need someone with the skills to implement it. We’ll see.
One of my favorite retirement perks is the ability to take a nap anytime the mood strikes me. It did, so I did. I woke up refreshed an hour later and knocked out a few games of Words with Friends. My brother in California is the only person who still wants to play me these days . I do fairly well at the game I suppose (it’s like Scrabble, only easier), but my bro still beats me the majority of the time. Guess that’s why he still plays me.
Jee Yeun offered to make me a smoothie and I didn’t refuse. Not especially in keeping with my low carbohydrate regimen, but I had it in lieu of dinner. Besides, man does not live by not eating bread alone. To coin a phrase.
Next up was a brisk walk for an hour (3.5 miles) on the treadmill.. Then an hour and half of darts practice. Another round of Words with Friends, some television (Orange is the New Black) on Netflix, a shower, and this blog post.
And there you have it. Hey you, wake up! This is my life we’re talking about here!
Meaning, the supper I had last night.
The next best thing to being in Korea I suppose…
Ha, I’m practically famous, in an anonymous kind of way.
I emailed a link from a 1953 issue of LIFE magazine to one of my favorite bloggers, Althouse. She thinks men in shorts look ridiculous and often mentions that fact on her blog. The LIFE magazine article documents shorts for men as a new fashion trend in New York City. LIFE cautions they should be worn properly with knee socks, but sniffs they are still more “appropriate for the country”.
Anyway, it made me smile to see my email generated a blog post from Althouse. Cheers!
An argument could be made that the USA is increasingly becoming a police state. Now, I’m not saying that life here is anything like being in prison. But in order to leave the country with my wife, I have to complete USCIS Form Number I-131, Request for Advance Parole. If the all mighty and powerful bureaucratic machine deems us worthy, dispensation in the form of early release from the confines of U.S. borders could be ours!
After perusing 8 pages of governmentese instructions for said from I-131 (the form itself is only 5 pages long) I came to the conclusion that our situation does not precisely fit one of the categories for for which “parole” will be considered. I could perhaps make a compelling case for parole given Jee Yeun’s need to deal with real estate issues, but seeing as how there is a 3-6 month timeline for processing the I-131 (which means I could potentially have the green card before a parole is approved), I’ve reached the logical decision that it’s not worth the time and effort to even apply.
I guess there’s nothing to be done now except to accept that I won’t be returning to Korea anytime soon. Fuck parole, I’ll serve my time like a fine and proud American. And hopefully early next year I shall be released.
Finally. The long awaited letter from U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) arrived in today’s mail. The subject of the letter is “Notice of Potential Interview Waiver Case”. The letter explains that USCIS has determined that an interview may be unnecessary to complete the permanent residency application. I took that as a hopeful sign that things might be moving forward more expeditiously henceforth.
Ah, but no so fast! After all, this is the U.S. government we are talking about here. The letter goes on to state that “Due to workload factors not related to your case, USCIS anticipates a delay in completing your case.” How long a delay? Six fucking months from the date of the letter (August 2). So, that puts us into February. What a cluster fuck.
So, I guess it’s move on to plan B. Jee Yeun has to go back to Korea prior to the expiration of her lease in December. She needs to kick a non-paying tenant out of the apartment she owns, and she needs to move from the apartment she is currently renting (well, it’s a key money lease, but you get my meaning). As I mentioned in a previous post, Jee Yeun is technically not allowed to leave the country while her green card application is pending. However, I can file another form with USCIS asking for a waiver of that provision.
I’m reluctant to take that step because the USCIS website warns that such a course of action “may” delay approval of the permanent residency application. So, it appears I’m screwed either way. Well, nothing much to be done about it at this point. I reckon I’ll have to ask for the waiver and take my chances. What bullshit this is.
In the letter carrier’s mixed bag today I also received my brand spanking new set of Black Widow fixed point tungsten darts. Sweet. Looks like I’m going to have plenty of time to break them in here in South Carolina.
Ready to put the bite on my opponents!