Regarding Korean women

min-young.gifWell, it’s been quite awhile since I’ve wieghed in on the subject of Korean women.  I’m prompted to do so today after reading what I presume is a tongue-in-cheek article in the Korea Times by Michael Breen.

This part especially cracked me up:

Now, if all western men in Korea were from Scotland, the answer to our question would be simple. Research shows that the Scots speak the clearest English. We look like Sean Connery, our lifestyle of running after sheep and tossing cabers gives us chiseled shoulders and muscular thighs. We can play the bagpipes and do the sword dance. We have deep hearts because our country is mountainous and we have four seasons and we have been oppressed by foreigners.

But not all aliens are Scots. There are men here from America, India, New Zealand, Belgium, Wales, Pakistan, Egypt ― the whole world in fact. Korean women even go out with men from Canada, a country that is covered in snow and has three time zones.

Heh.  My pal Alasteir is from Scotland and even after knowing him 2 years I still understand only about 50% of what he says.  He does have a cute girlfriend though.  In fact, most of my friends here have lovely Korean wives, even the Canadians!

It wasn’t so long ago that interracial relationships in Korea were frowned upon (to put it lightly) by polite Korean society.  Not unlike the USA in the 1950s.  In the social heirarchy here, foriegners are for the most part considered the bottom rung of the ladder.  A woman who would “lower” herself to date a waeguk was considered little better than a whore.  I still occasionally hear stories of ajosshis (older Korean men)berating women when they have the audacity to been seen in public with their roundeye boyfriends.  And I know a guy who dated a Korean woman for over a year, but was kept a secret from her family because they were “conservative” and wouldn’t accept the relationship.  This was a woman in her 30s but she was in constant fear because if her father knew he would force her to move back home.

But things are changing, and the young people seem to be much more open to dating outside their race and the social stigma of doing so is diminishing.  Then again, I’m a denizen of Itaewon.  And as anyone will be quick to tell you, Itaewon is not the “real” Korea.  Whatever. 

In my considered opinion, Korean women are by far the most beautiful in Asia.  At least on the outside.  They just have a “look” about them somehow.  Sexy and stylish, feminine to the extreme.  I like the way they talk, I like the way they walk.  Makes me wish I was 30 again.  Alas, I’m surrounded by eye candy, but I’m on a sugar-free diet.  Actually, that’s not true.  It’s just that like anywhere else in the world, an attractive young woman is attracted to attractive young men.  It is a blunt reminder that I no longer reside in the latter category when I am addressed as “ajosshi”.  Which is the respectful way to address an older man, but in my head I hear “grandfather”.  Which of course is what I am.  And proud of it!  Most of the time…

But I digress.  We were talking about Korean women, not me.  One of the sweetest gals I’ve met here is Min Young.  She’s the girlfriend of a friend from Dolce, Jeff.  She worked in the bar briefly and was always a lot of fun to tease.  She still comes in with Jeff occasionally and always generates the same two responses in my head: Damn, she’s gorgeous and Damn, Jeff is the luckiest SOB I know.  Don’t take my word for it, see for yourself: 

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Actually, that is probably too small to see and appreciate.  Min Young did a photo shoot with a fantastic photographer I know from dart league, Dave New.  I lifted this example from his Flickr website.  To truly appreciate his skill and Min Young’s beauty, go here.  You’ve got to check out the one of her in the school uniform which is my favorite.  But they are all good!

Final question:  How old do you suppose Min Young might be?  I had the pleasure of attending her most recent birthday party (at Dolce Vita of course) so I know the answer.  My rule of thumb in guessing a Korean woman’s age is to add 5 years or so to what you think is the correct answer. 

Min Young is now 30 years old.  I teased her brutally about soon turning into an ajumma (older woman).  It is another unique aspect of Korean womanhood, this whole transformation that occurs in the late 30s, early 40s.  They cut off that beautiful long hair, stop dressing sexy, and start fleshing out into frumpiness.  Now, that is not universally true, but as a general rule it seems to occur with distressing frequency.  It is a fascinating phenomanon regardless.

So, there you have my perhaps ill-considered insights on Korean women.  Of course, it is just one man’s opinion and I am far from having any real expertise in this area.  I mean, what can the kid without a nickel really tell you about that taste of the chocolate bar in the candy store?

One more thing before I go, somewhat off topic.  I was sitting in a bar in the Philippines.  The place was full of Korean men.  I asked the bar girl why Filipinas seemed to like Korean men so much.  She laughed and said we call them triple 3s.  I asked what does that mean?  She said, “you know, 3 minutes, 3 inches, 3 thousand pesos”.  I think that’s pretty damn funny.

 Hat tip to the Marmot’s Hole for the link to the Korea Times story.

The results are in

I didn’t win the tourney yesterday.  I didn’t really expect or deserve to the way I threw.  Still, there were some nice highlights on my way to a 6th place finish (and 50,000 won). 

Started out with Becky who has really picked up her game.  She took the first ’01 leg, but I came back with two hard fought cricket wins.  It was a tight match and all credit to Becky who gave me just about all I could handle.

Next up was Wan Ji, someone I had never played before.  He’s ranked #1 in B division and he definitely has game.  I took the first cricket leg, then he smoked me in ’01.  I took the diddle for the third leg and of course called cricket.  Then proceeded to completely fall apart.  How bad was I?  In addition to way too many one marks, I threw six darts and hit nothing.  You can’t get away with that against good competition.  So, Wan Ji is closed with a 100+ point lead and I have 19s and 17s open.  I pulled a 6 bull shot out of my ass, and then followed with another double.  Of course, it was too little, too late.  Wan Ji pounded my open numbers to get the points back and then closed out the bulls for the victory, sending me to the losers bracket.

With all due respect, I didn’t feel like he beat me, I beat myself with some inexplicably bad darts.  People were congratulating me on the 6 bulls, but really you should never be in the situation where you HAVE to throw that to stay in the game.  Still, it won me half of the high mark pot; I split it with Dustin who threw a 9-mark.

I took Jim to move up in the losers bracket and had to wait awhile for my next round.  So, I drank some more beer and got good and relaxed.  Darts is a funny game.  Obviously it involves hand-eye coordination so you would think drinking would be counterproductive, but at least for me, when I just go up there throwing naturally I tend to do better than when I’m tight and trying to force them in.  Or so I tell myself.

Anyway, Alisteir the Scot went through the winner’s bracket undefeated.  I had a tough row to hoe just to get in the money (the top 8 finishers paid off).  I threw some pretty good darts to beat Chris B. who is currently ranked #4 in A division.  Which earned me the right to face off against Dennis, who has been smokin’ all season and is the top ranked player in the league.

I watched an espisode of Band of Brothers the other day and this young private was cowering in his foxhole to afraid to fire his weapon.  Captain Spears told him: “You know what your problem is soldier?  You still have hope.  Once you realize and accept the fact that you are already dead, you’ll be able to do your job as a soldier.  Now fire that weapon!”

I guess that was my attitude against Dennis.  I didn’t have any expectation of winning, so I was calm at the oche and just let the darts fly.  And boy did they fly good.  It was a hard fought match but I prevailed.  Beating Dennis was definitely the high point of my day.

And as fate would have it, next up for me was Wan Ji.  I was looking for revenge and feeling confident.  I took the first cricket leg.  The ’01 was tight wire-to-wire, and I took shots at the out 3 times, missing the mark by centimeters.  Damn, you got to take the out when you have the opportunity and I failed to do so which cost me the leg.  We played cricket the third leg and while I didn’t come completely fall apart like I did in our earlier match, I wasn’t good enough to win.  So, yeah Wan Ji beat me and hats off to him.  Actually, he’s a pretty nice guy and I’m looking forward to a rematch in the future.

Sueng Youb fought his way through the loser’s bracket to face off with Alisteir for the championship.  He had had to beat him twice and he proceeded to do so.  Congrats to both guys who threw some incredible darts.  Good job to Lonnie and Grant as well for putting on an outstanding tournament.  I had a great time.

What’s your name worth?

Apparently, johnmccrarey.com was worth something to someone in Poland. As they have absconded with my domain name. Former readers now get some drug spam ad instead of the wit and witticism to which they became accustomed at Long Time Gone. Not!

Long story short: I like everyone else was redirected to the Tramadol spam when I logged onto LTG. I contacted my blog host (blogs-about.com) who said my domain no longer pointed to their server. They suggested I contact GoDaddy.com who was the domain servicer. I said I have no relationship with GoDaddy and I had purchased the domain through them. I was advised that blogs-about is just a broker and my domain had been purchased through GoDaddy. Ok, then.

So, I call GoDaddy and they need my customer number, which since I was never their customer I don’t have. After jumping through numerous hoops I was finally able to ascertain that my blog domain registration had expired and when I did not renew, it had been purchased by the aforementioned guy in Poland. And there was nothing GoDaddy could do to get it back. (well, I could use their domain purchase service and try to buy it back). Which I am still considering. What the hell is my name worth?

I was incensed and outraged and frustrated and disgusted and more. First, I recalled having paid for a 5 year registration of the domain, and that was four years ago. (Of course, four years later I have no way to document that). Second, I received no notice of the expiration or opportunity to renew. GoDaddy insists that I was sent several emails. I didn’t get them, although it is *possible* I treated them as spam since I didn’t heretofore know GoDaddy from Adam.

Whatever. I finally purchased mccrarey.com and no here is where my blog resides. It is like starting over as none of my former readers know how to find me (they were few, but loyal and I miss them). So, I will send an email to as many as I can locate and ask those who linked to me previously to update their links.

And I suppose life goes on.

He’s baaaaack!!!!

What a freakin’ nightmare. Bottom line, someone stole my name (domain). It shouldn’t have taken as long as it did to resolve but sometimes life gets in the way. Anyway, I had to purchase a new domain so everyone who reads this blog or links to it still can’t find me. Which means I’m just talkin’ to myself right now.

Well, need to beat the bushes and get the word out. It’s like starting over…

Long Time Gone

Looking at the calendar just now I see it is my anniversary. Four years in Korea!

No big insights. Plodding along and the time just keeps passing me by. The fact that I’m still here says something I suppose. Yeah, I guess I’ve pretty much found my comfort zone. Now, I recognize that I’m kinda living in between two worlds here, not really part of Korea and not really in tune with my U.S. roots either. But it seems to be working and I frankly spend zero energy worrying about it. Yeah, I should be speaking the local language by now. Sue me. I’m learning new words here and there and understanding a little more than I let on, but obviously I don’t care enough to work harder at it, likely because I don’t need to.

I have friends and people I care about it here. I have my darts. I have my time alone. And yes, I do miss my family and know that with each passing day I am drifting further away from being a meaningful part of anyone’s life there.

For better or worse you only get to live one life at a time. For now, this is the one I’ve chosen and I’m going to ride it out for the next two years. Or until I die. Whichever comes first.

If ignorance is bliss…

…then I should be pretty damn happy.

Here’s an example: Yesterday I spent a lazy day doing my usual routine of ‘net surfing and CIV IV. Around six I shower up and prepare to head out to Dolce for a special editon of the Friday night tourney–“Eric’s Last Hurrah”. Yep, another year, another friend rotating back to the States.

So anyway, after I got dressed I just didn’t feel right. Coudn’t put my finger on what it was, not exactly dizzy but off-kilter somehow. I even looked in the mirror to see if my glasses were dirty, but they seemed fine. Off I went to Dolce but I was still out of sorts. My dart game is always inconsistent, but I just couldn’t “get a feel” for my throws last night. I didn’t totally suck, but I was definitely off my game. In fact in a double elimination tourney, my partner Lonnie and I lost four straight legs and we were the first 8 teams to be eliminated. Which is unusual for me. As I told CH last night, I didn’t stick around long enough for him to beat me. Oh well.

I did stay for some free beers (Eric got a keg as a going away present). I guess the drinking gave me back some equilibrium, or at least the beer buzz made the out of sorts feeling seem natural. I went out for some bulgogi and then headed home. Where I discovered what had been wrong with me.

Get this–on the bathroom floor is one of the lenses from my eyeglasses. Yep, I had gone the whole night with half a pair of glasses and never noticed. Neither apparently did the 30-some people in Dolce Vita. I am sure some of the darters would have loved a good laugh at my expense had they noticed.

Well mystery solved and the diagnosis is late stage stupidity.

And just to underscore the ignorance point–these were my “backup” glasses I was wearing last night. The other day I took off my new glasses while changing my shirt and laid them on the bed. In the exact spot where I would ultimately sit down to put on my socks.

So today I will be making a visit to the eyeglass store for repairs wearing my back-up back-up frames. I will of course be completely cheerful in my response if he asks how I managed to break both pairs.

Hey, I must be a real happy guy. After all, ignorance is bliss!

It’s been a long time comin’….

and I guess I’ve been a long time gone…

I’m kinda sorta thinking about resurrecting this here blog of mine. Not that I expect to have anything profound to say, but I do miss the connection writing here gives me to the outside world. No question about it, I’ve been deep in my cocoon living a very, very insular life of late.

That may not change anytime soon, but what the hell. It’s probably just me here by now anyway.

So, what’s been going on with me? Pretty much the same old, same old. Least that how it feels. But I guess when you are living for the day, one day starts to seem like all the others somehow. No complaints and no real worries to express. I’ve been blessed I know, and even if things are not how I would most want them to be, they ain’t too damn bad either. So, that’s about as profound as things get here at LTG.

My new job has really turned out to be quite the challenge, although that was not unexpected. What surprises me a little is how I’ve responded. I guess it’s fair to say I’ve been pretty much coasting career-wise these past several years. Lost the fire if you get my meaning. This job doesn’t allow just “showing up”, there are high demands and high expectations from command leadership and it is not in my nature to let my bosses down. And this stuff is much bigger than me, there are many people impacted by decisions I make and I’ll be damned if I am going to fail through lack of effort. Which is the long way of saying I’ve been working hard lately.

I really don’t (and can’t) talk about work specifics, but I’ve been taking on some pretty high profile taskings which require direct interaction with many general officers, including the commander. I actually had to step up and tell him he was about to take a path that would inevitably end badly. I got one of those 4-star stares and a rather blunt response, but to his credit, he listened and took a different course of action. That was a day I went home feeling like I’d earned my pay for sure. Of course, being two years out from retirement I’ve got enough job security that courage comes a little easier for me than it might for others. What are they going to do, take away my birthday?

I do find the interactions between these general officers quite fascinating to observe. I have tremendous respect for these leaders who are for the most part quite brilliant. They could certainly be executives or CEOs in the private sector making big bucks, but they have devoted their lives to military service and I can’t help but honor that. At the end of the day, they are just like the rest of us with all the human quirks and warts, but they also have a special quality about them. Confidence in abundance to be sure, but what really impresses me is the ability to see the big picture and quickly grasp the myriad details of complex issues and to make generally sound decisions and provide direction. Leadership at its essence.

Anyway, work is hard but it has its rewards. My personal life will remain for the most part personal, but I’ve weathered a rough patch and think I came out of it pretty well for the most part. Even after four years here though I still struggle with the annual ritual of saying goodbye to people I’ve grown rather fond of. C’est la vie.

Had a rather difficult dart season. My illness mid-season affected everything in my life, and it took me several weeks to get back on my game. I did manage to finish 8th in the league, which was satisfying given the way I had been playing.

This was my last season with Sliders, as the team is breaking up. In part this was no surprise. Matt returned to the States, and Alistair went back to Scotland. They were the top two players on the team. One of the other guys apparently had some issues with our bar sponsor and decided not to return. I’m not sure what other dynamics were at play, but I really don’t care for the bullshit, I just want to play darts to the best of my ability and have fun doing it.

Anyway, I tried to hook on with the other Dolce Vita “A” division team, but they had (or thought they had) more players than they needed. So, I finangled an invite to play with the neighbor bar, Bless U. I really hate leaving Dolce, but the Blue Bulls are a bunch of good guys and I enjoy hanging out with them, so I’m looking forward to the upcoming season.

So, I guess that pretty much brings you up to date on my so-called life. It’s in my mind to get regular again as far as posting here. But I’ve promised that before, haven’t I?

In the hospital

I have never previously been hospitalized. But I have visited enough US hospitals to have a pretty good idea of the experience involves.

Of course, I was not admitted to an American hospital, so I was going in pretty much blind. This is what I experienced:

I was put in a relatively small room with two other Koreans. Two beds were against the wall at the far end of the room. My bed was on the opposite wall near the entrance door. In this configuration, the foot of my bed was approximately six inches from the head of my neighbors bed.

There was a small TV mounted on wall at the “far” end of the room with the volume set on blare.

The bathroom was down the hall 50 feet or so and shared by everyone on the 7th floor.

I was apparently the only foriegner.

The room was not particularly clean. No privacy curtains or other such amenities were in existence.

I was not allowed to eat any food whatsover (interfered with “tests” and the medication I was receiving intraveneously).

I could never get a clear answer on just what was in the yellow liquid being continuosly fed into my arm.

It did eventually bring my fever under control.

I was totally unprepared for this visit and had nothing to help pass the hours and hours of sheer, mind-numbing boredom.

Both of my roommates snored louder than anyone I have ever head. In unison they nearly made the walls vibrate.

Although sleep was a sweet escape, I could only manage a couple of hours each night.

After the first night (Monday), I was ready to be discharged. Lack of sleep, lack of food, lack of mental stimulation were taking their toll. The doctor insisted I stay until Thursday.

Test results indicated I had picked up a pretty common virus that had planted itself in my spleen, which in turn had caused significant reductions in my white blood cell count. This was somewhat of a relief because there had been some talk of Malaria from the docs and I was fearing cancer.

Surprisingly, my second night in hospital turned out to be much worse than the first. As I lay there sleepless listening the snorers I was sure I was losing my mind. I felt totally trapped and helpless. It was the biggest pity party I ever had for myself.

The next morning when the nurse tried to attach a new bag of the mystery yellow fluid to my IV, I forcefully said “anio!”. And then I had her remove the IV from my arm. She was shocked and I am sure it got the staff talking about the miguk who must have lost his mind. A different nurse with slightly better English skills tried to get me to take my medicine bag a couple of hours later, but I again declined saying I was through treating the symptoms, I was in hospital to address the CAUSE of the symptoms. Which went completely over her head. The staff pretty much gave me a wide birth after that.

A doctor (not my primary physician) came by and asked if I wanted to go home and I said yes. He asked why and I explained that they could give whatever was in the yellow fluid in pill form and I could treat the symptoms in the comfort of my home. I wanted to deal with the virus/spleen thing. He said there was nothing they could do about that. So I said just release me and he seemed happy to be rid of my whining ass.

I had to wait two hours while the did the out processing paperwork. I had called Blue Cross earlier and they were getting the documentation they needed to process my claim from the hospital. Or so I thought. The phone rang in the room, and since I alone was ambulatory, I got up and answered. It was Blue Cross asking if things were going ok. I said you tell me. The rep said they had asked for my medical records and were told they had to FAX the request, which they had done 3 hours ago without response. Uh oh, I thought.

So, I am advised by a nurse that “international finance” is ready for me now, and when I arrive I ask if they got the FAX. Apparently so, but it did not matter because they did not have a working arrangement with Blue Cross and I would have to pay out of pocket.

I admit I get grouchy sometimes. Especially when I’m hungry. Or tired. And I was tired and hungry. So, I kind of let the poor guy have it. Then I regained my calm enough to get Blue Cross on the phone. They show Soonchunhwang Hospital as a preferred provider on thier website and I thought they could clear up this misundertanding. Well, it would be funny under different circumstances, but the bottom line is Blue Cross and SCH never completed a contract. Which left me where?

To everyone’s credit more calls were made, higher ups consulted, and finally an exception was made on my behalf. So, six hours after I began trying to escape I was out the door.

And there you have the tale of my first (and hopefully last)time in a Korean hospital.

This post’s for you!

It’s been a long time comin’ ( an I’ve been a Long Time Gone) but here I am.

Actually posting this from Washington, DC (well, technically Alexandria, Virginia) where I arrived after a 20 hour journey from Seoul yesterday. Have meetings here the next two days before spending the weekend in South Carolina with family. Back to Korea on Tuesday.

I can pretty much illustrate my overall existence these past few months with an incident that occurred in the early morning hours today. My secretary booked my hotel and it is a freaking smoke free facility. So, I wake up at 0400 (jet lag is a bitch), brew the in-room coffee, grab the USA Today newspaper and head outside for a morning smoke. Now, I am all suited up for my first big meeting with the brass from higher headquarters and I’m being careful not to do something stupid like spilling coffee on my new tailor-made pink dress shirt. Suddenly there is a “plop” sound and I feel something hit my arm and I’m thinking surely it is not starting to rain. No, some f’n bird scored a direct hit on my suit jacket. That was a shitty start to the day.

Anyway, just prior to flying here I had 12 days in the Philippines, and spent the last five sick. Still sick, but getting better day by day.

Not sure who still ventures into the barren waters of this blog, but I’m going to try and get back in the groove again. So check back occasionally. Or not.

A better morning

Than yesterday at least. I don’t think I engaged in any inappropriate behaviors last night, so that’s a plus. In fact, I ran into the guy I went off on Friday night and apoligized profusely. We had a little chat about the circumstances leading up to my explosion and I understood where he was coming from. So, I was glad that he accepted my apology and I think we will put it behind us and move on without further incident. You can’t ever make it totally right, but I know we both felt better for having cleared the air.

We had a couple of nice dart tourneys at the Blue Frog last night. In the doubles I drew a somewhat inexperienced Korean, but he threw decent if inconsistent darts. We managed to beat Craig and Grant in the first round, but it was downhill from there I’m afraid. It was actually all on me, because my partner played better while my darts went to shit. We were the only team to beat Craig and Grant as they came back through the loser’s bracket to take first place. I was pleasantly surprised when we were awarded the 3rd place payout for our efforts (all of W10,000).

Next came the singles tournament, a format I prefer in some ways because it is all on you. No letting down a partner (or blaming them) if you fail. On the other hand, you have to beat players who are statistically better than you head-to-head, but I tend to like that challenge.

I got by Grant and Won Jun in the first two rounds of the winner’s bracket, setting up a confrontation with “The Angry Scot” Alistair. Regular readers know that Alistair is one of the top players in Itaewon and was certainly the highest ranked player in the tourney. He had played two tough matches against “The Goat” and Colin. Because we had been reduced to two boards, we had to wait quite some time before we actually stepped up to the Oche. As Alistair said after my 2-0 win, “you didn’t have your best darts, but they were good enough”. I felt pretty good, because it was the first time I remember beating him one-on-one in a money tourney. And it put me in the Championship round. Where Alistair promised we would meet again.

We did. By now it was after midnight and we had been playing and drinking since 7:00. So, rather than a test of dart skills it was more of who can throw best while intoxicated. The first leg was cricket and it was one of the strangest games I can recall. Alistair is notorious for his unorthodox cricket strategy, and this game was no different. I scored zero marks with first six darts, while he closed bulls and marked a couple of other numbers. For whatever reason, Alistair closed out the bottom half of the board (17/16/15) before I had any number closed. I figured the game was over at this point, but I kept working to close what I could and avoid being totally embarassed. Once I had closed 20s, we got into a points battle, with Alistair pounding 17s, and me answering with triple 20s. In between I kept working to close numbers and Alistair struggled on the top half of the board. When I finally hit my last bullseye for the win I was the most surprised person in the room.

Next was ’01, a game Alistair excels at. I hung with him to the end, where I was waiting to shoot for the 32 out. I’m still waiting, because Alistair hit the 40 for the win. Which took us to the deciding 3rd leg. I diddled a double bull and chose cricket. I played a solid game and Alistair struggled just enough for me to seal the victory. And take home W50,000. Well, I didn’t actually wind up taking it home, having got sucked into a card game I think is called Hula with a bargirl for drinks. Shoulda stuck with darts I guess. But it was fun regardless.

Wound up going to bed around 3:30 and was awakened at 6:30 by some kids playing in the yard of the downstairs apartment. What the hell they were doing up that early on Sunday is beyond me. I finally had to move into my guest bedroom for some quiet and much needed sleep. Woke up again at 10:30 feeling somewhat refreshed and made myself a classic American breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, OJ and coffee. Not bad if I do say so myself.

I got an email indicating that folks at home may be worried about my state of mind these days. I guess yesterday’s post was a little disconcerting. Yes, I am going through a bit of a rough patch recently, but I am really ok. Some stressors at work and personally have occupied my mind of late, but I know that “this too shall pass”. And yeah, I have got to find a better way to relieve that stress than drinking. And I will.

No worries.

Walk on

I’m a bit disgusted with myself these days. I’m somewhat overwhelmed with a convergence of events and I am not pleased with how I am handling it. Last night I have to admit I was pretty much a drunken asshole. I got really pissed at a dart opponent and said some things I regret. Later, a friend told me about some behavoir I do not even recall, but it had pissed him off immensely. So, today I am lamenting my actions and trying to resolve to be a better person in the days to come.

Not sure how to go about that at this point, but perhaps I will be struck with some insights soon. Or not. Best I can do for now is try to pull my head out of my ass and stop worrying about what I can’t control.

I hear some people been talkin’ me down
Bring up my name, pass it round
They don’t mention the happy times
They do their thing, I do mine.

Well baby, that’s hard to change
I can’t tell them how to feel
Some get stoned, some get strange
Sonner or later it all gets real.

Walk on.

–Neil Young

Skinned alive

So I had the skin graft surgery yesterday. I had actually about 90% changed my mind as I figured I could clean and dress the finger until it healed up properly. But when I got there, the receptionist slapped a hospital bracelet on me, and motioned for me to follow her. So, we walk through the first floor lobby, up a flight of stairs, reverse direction and walk through pediatrics, neurosurgery (lots of people lining the walls in PJs waiting with Night of the Living Dead-like expressions. Scary.) up another flight of stairs, through some double doors, and into the surgery clinic.

Where my surgery team awaited. In our mutually limited means of communication, they were asking about anathesia and if I wanted to sleep. I said I wasn’t real keen on pain, but I would prefer to stay awake. So we agreed on a local. I reiterated that I was not staying in the hospital and the doc nodded and said “yeah, you go home”. So, I was instructed to undress and put on the surgical clothes (not one of those backless gowns thank god) and I was escorted to the operating room.

I got the full treatment. There were 3 nurses and 3 doctors. And I’m thinking how much is this going to cost me? I had called Blue Cross and although Soonchonkyang Hospital is on the preferred provider list, outpatient treatment is paid out of pocket and I file the claim afterwards for direct reimbursement. So, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen if the costs exceeded my available funds, but at this point there was no turning back.

We had agreed to take the needed skin from the same hand (that fleshy area (heel?) at the bottom of my hand. I had told the surgeon “dartsuh” and made my throwing motion and he actually understood and assured me I would be good to play in a week. So they proceed to clean up my hand. But when he cleaned the wound I about jumped out of my skin. I am sure I must have a nerve ending exposed or something, because it feels like an electrical shock in a root canal kinda way when touched. Then the doc said “injection and pain” and while the injections were in fact painful (like stepping on a nail) it was not so bad comparitively speaking. He didn’t wait too long to start messing with the finger though and I had to express my discomfort with the internationally recognized “goddamn, that hurts!”. Loudly. I’m guessing he was thinking he should have just put me to sleep, but he gave me another round of injections. Which allowed sufficient time for the first round to take effect and my hand became comfortably numb.

After that, everything was cool. It was a little disconcerting hearing everything (they had put a screen where I couldn’t watch, not that I wanted too). I didn’t catch much of the conversation of course, but it sounded an awful lot like the doctors were flirting with the nurses. Laughter from the docs and shy giggles from the nurses. Anyway, that is what I choose to believe they were talking about. I was just glad I didn’t hear “Aigo!” (roughly translates to damn. At least that is how I use it).

Took about 30 minutes. I was taken back to my clothes, told to go see the receptionship, was given a prescription and a bill for 423,000 Won (around $425.) I go back at 1100 today I think to get my head stiches looked at. Not sure what the drugs are supposed to do. If they are for pain, they don’t work. I wound taking a leftover Percocet last night and slept well. Feel pretty good today and plan to be back at work after my appointment.

Well that is the story. It seems a shame that this is the only thing I have to blog about. But I figure why not share the pain? My readers have come to expect no less.

Damn, that’s gonna leave a mark…

Just wanted to update y’all on the sorry state of my wounded body. Went to the doc today to get cleaned and rewrapped, and when the bandage came off the finger (painfully) I was still bleeding. Doctor says I need surgery, which I understand to be a skin graft of some type or another. Get this: he recommended I stay in hospital 2 or 3 days! I said bullshit (well, I was more polite than that) and he said ok, you just have to come back everyday. Which I guess is an acceptable compromise.

Strange how in the USA they won’t keep you overnight unless you are knocking on death’s door. Here, they admit you for a hangnail it seems. Another difference is those little niceties like taking blood pressure and temprature, asking about allergies or what other medications you are taking just isn’t done. I took three shots of something in the ass on Saturday but have no inkling what they were. I have no known allergies, but hell, they didn’t know that. It just doesn’t inspire confidence somehow.

Oh well. Going in at 1400 tomorrow. Don’t know if they intend to knock me out or not, but I am not real keen on watching skin extracted from my (thigh?) and reattached to my pinky. Plus the inability to interact coherently is a bit disconcerting. I guess I should spend tonight learning to say things like “I can’t breathe” or “that hurts like a sonofabitch” or other handy phrases appropriate (try typing appropriate with a bandaged right pinky sometime) to the situation.

Instead I am going to play darts. It’s opening night of the summer season!

Last night had me in stiches…

…but it was no laughing matter.

In fact, it was deja vu all over again.

I had a blackout, hit the floor, and now have stiches in my head and an f’d up finger.

Really strange, because I don’t remember a thing. One minute I am sitting at the bar having a pleasant conversation, the next thing I know I am being picked up off a bloody floor.

I’m told I started coughing and stood up and then went down for the count. No idea what is up with that.

I didn’t go to the hospital last night as suggested, but when I woke this morning my finger was throbbing. I tried to take the bandage off, but the slightest touch brought on searing pain. My head looked ok, as that wound had already scabbed over. But I walked over to the hospital convienently located in my neighborhood to get my pinky looked at.

Of course, they just ripped the bandage right off which was incredibly painful and started some pretty impressive bleeding. After cleaning it up I could see that I didn’t have a cut finger, rather it was as if some had taken a filet knife and sliced an inch off. Sorry to say, when the doc started probing around I screamed like a banjee. Worse pain I can remember. So, they wrapped it up and I go back Monday for another looksee and cleaning. Which means I get to re-experience the joy of having the bandage removed.

The also stiched up my head which comparitively speaking was a piece of cake. And three injections in the ass. Not my idea of a great Saturday morning to be sure.

If there is a silver lining, it occurred to me that if death comes like a blackout it won’t be bad at all. One minute you are there having a nice chat and the next your gone. No worries at all.

Disconnected

No idea what is wrong with me or why I have lost the desire to blog.

Well, I guess I do have an idea.

I am feeling a bit disconnected from everything and everyone in the world. And what is left isn’t all that interesting to me, so I can’t imagine why it would be to any intrepid visitor who might somehow come across this weary blog.

This is the life I have chosen. And that nearly everyone I care about has found me unworthy for living this way only underscores the isolation. But yes, I take full responsibility for my decisions. And I acknowledge my selfishness is choosing to seek meaning in my life rather than living as others would have me to do.

So there it is. Turn your back if you must. I never asked for understanding anyway. And I won’t ask for what I cannot give.

Try as I might though, I can’t stop caring.

I am sorry if that is not enough.

As I was saying….

Geez, where does the time get to anyway? It’s been awhile since I’ve posted I know, but sometimes it’s just a struggle to post when there ain’t nothin’ new to say. But yeah, I’m doing alright. I know when the the long lost Nomad inquires about my whereabouts it’s time to check in.

Since my return from the Philippines, it has been work and darts. Work has been hectic and stressful, and there does not appear to be much relief in sight. In fact, my boss will likely be leaving this summer and she is already lobbying me to take her job. But at this stage in my career, I’m focused on retiring, not climbing the ladder of “success”. Still, I prefer to control my destiny and I may wind up taking the job as a preemptive measure–I don’t want to work for an asshole and the only sure way to avoid that is to be the boss. We’ll see.

I’ve had a rough spell with my dart game as well. Just playing horrible the past few weeks. I’m sure the problem is in my head. I just haven’t been playing with confidence and I have been a little intimidated by the “A” division competition. I’ve been working on it though and this past week I’ve shown signs of breaking out of the slump. I had an 8-1 showing on Monday night, and won a couple of the Dolce tourneys, so I’ve just got to keep it going.

Ok, I promised to post about my trip to the Philippines. I had a great time, mostly. I really did not like Manila at all. What a shithole. The traffic made Seoul seem sane (which it is not). It was dirty and the poverty was right up close and personal. I mean Christ, landing at the airport you fly over a shanty town along the riverbank that is like something out of National Geographic. No way I could live there.

I spent a few days in Angeles City as well. It is one big party town, like Itaewon on speed. Lots of bars with young women dancing in skimpy attire. I was bored with that after the first day. Fortunately I met a couple of Americans staying in my hotel and we hung out together. Days at the pool, and at night we went to this country bar with a great live band. So, while I wound up having fun in Angeles, it is not the kind of town I would call home.

From there I flew to Cebu City. Yes, that was much more likely. Comparatively clean and modern. The poverty is there, but it is not so much in your face. I hired a cab one day to show me around and really got a good feeling about the place. More to see in Philippines before I make any decisions, but Cebu is a definite possibility.

One thing I learned is not to travel to a predominately Catholic country during the Holy Days. I arrive on Maudy Thursday which of course preceded Good Friday. Everything was closed up tight, including the bar I had read about on the internet and wanted to visit. So, it was a little boring since there wasn’t much to do but hang out at the pool bar. Still, a good trip and I hope to return soon.

Didn’t take a lot of pictures, but here are a few:

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Angeles City street scene with the ever present Jeepney’s…

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Fields Avenue, the main drag in Angeles. If this seems a little third world, you should see the back streets.

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This is where I stayed. The room was a bit dated, but clean. Great pool and great breakfast buffet. I’d stay there again.

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Ok, these next pictures are all from my tour of Cebu and the surrounding environs. This one is of Fort San Pedro, built by the Spanish in 1590 (if memory serves). One thing I found somewhat surprising is that despite being a Spanish colony for over 300 years, there was not much Spanish influence in the culture. Certainly not as much as you see in other former colonies.

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Fort San Pedro had some interesting flora and fauna. If you are interested in that kind of thing. I’m basically not.

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But I did enjoy the view.

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This is along the top of whatever you call the walls of a fort.

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Oh yeah, did I mention that the Philippines is quite tropical? It was March and I was wearing shorts and was on the edge of being uncomfortably warm. But I expect it was because I was acclimated to the rather harsh Korean winter I had just left.

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Not sure if this is going to be readable on the blog, but it is the story of Magellan’s Cross. Yes, this is the spot where he planted the seeds of Christianity in the PI. A few days later a local tribal chieftain named Lapu Lapu had had about enough of Magellan and his merry troop and dispatched them to the great hereafter rather violently.

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The above referenced cross of the ill-fated Magellan.

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Next stop on my tour was Beverly Hills. Yes, there is a Beverly Hills in Cebu City. It is a big gated community where the well to do live. I understand there are expats living there as well, but I did not encounter any. Anyway, it was quite pretty.

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Within the Beverly Hills compound is a huge Taoist Temple. My lack of photography skills prevented me from finding an angle that really captured its enormity. So, this will have to do.

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The Temple had lots of cool stuff like this.

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I don’t know if the Taoists call this a pagoda or not. That’s what I’m calling it though.

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I have no concept or understanding of Taoist beliefs. So, no clue what these figurines represent. Other than a photo op for me.

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Apparently fishing is revered amongst those who practice the Tao faith. I guess the Nomad would appreciate that.

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Lots of these dragons hanging about as well.

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I had to climb a gazillion steps to get to the Temple proper. I was rewarded with a nice view of Beverly Hills though…

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If they day comes that I am able to retire, and if the place I retire is the Philippines, and if I choose Cebu City, and if I decide to live in Beverly Hills, then I ‘m thinking this house would be a comfortable abode. No, I didn’t price anything specific, but my internet searches have convinced me I could find something similar for no more than $200,000.

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You know, when you travel people invariably ask about the local cuisine. This place is fairly typical of the dining establishments I saw. To be truthful, I wasn’t that adventurous when it came to eating out. Mostly just what I could get in the hotel or sandwich type places. I guess the only “real” Filipino food I tried was the Jollibees. (A fast food chain that pinoys are crazy about for some reason).

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So, I asked my taxi guy Fredo to show me around Mactan Island next. That is where the resorts are and many expats call it home. I tried to catch a picture of Cebu Bay as we crossed the bridge, but got this San Miguel sign instead. I drank a lot of San Miguel during my visit.

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So this is the best I could do at capturing Cebu Bay. Fredo drives pretty fast.

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I really wasn’t that impressed with Mactan Island. I saw a lot of poverty and it just wasn’t as clean and modern as Cebu City. We did stop for lunch at this resort on the water. Lots of people come to the PI for the scuba diving. I don’t scuba myself of course, as I find my breathing is easier above the water.

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And the water was definitely clear. Not sure this picture captures that, but I hadn’t seen water this nice since the Bahamas. Nice as blue, but crystal clear.

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Hot day + holiday weekend = lots of people enjoying a nice swim.

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This is my driver Fredo. Nice guy. It was kinda funny how we met. My first night in town he was the first cab in line at the hotel taxi stand. I said I wanted to go to Lonestar (the bar I had read about) and he said the bars would be closed. I (being an expert after one hour in town) assured him he was wrong. He wasn’t. He did eventually find a place that was open so I could quench my craving for a San Miguel. Anyway, a couple of days later when I was ready for my tour, Fredo was the first cab in the taxi stand again. We both thought that quite the coincidence. He wound up taking me to the airport as well, but that was by arrangement.

We both ordered the barbeque chicken. This is what it looked like half way through. Not bad. I mean, I eat chicken on a stick from the street vendors in Itaewon pretty often. This was comparable. Yeah, I’m such a gourmet.

Ok, that’s my report from the Philippines. I’ll try to do better about keeping y’all up to speed on my many “adventures” here in Korea.

Until then, anyong.

The Big 3-OH

Well, my son Kevin turns 30 years old today. Which makes us exactly the same age. Although he is 30 in mind AND body. So this post is for him.

Turning 30 is a good thing, son. A whole ‘nother world of possibilities await you. To me, it is the real beginning of adulthood. I hope you don’t feel like you are getting too old to achieve your dreams.

I guess the other thing I would tell you is too hold fast to what you value most in life. You have a beautiful wife who loves you and that is a bigger treasure than you may realize. Richness is not always about money.

Although I’m not around to be offering fatherly advice (which I probably wouldn’t be good at if I was around), I trust I can serve as an example to you. A bad example, it’s true, but an example nonetheless. I hope you will reflect on my many mistakes in life and resolve yourself to be a better man than I was.

I have always been prouder of you than know. Nothing would make me prouder than seeing you live a happy and fulfilling life, surrounded by the many people who love you.

Happy birthday, son. I love you.

Remembering Linda Ketner

linda.jpgFour years ago this month, my friend and soulmate succumbed to breast cancer. Until this moment, I have never written of her, although few days pass when she is not in my thoughts. Even now, the pain of losing her seems too raw and fresh to contemplate, and yet her memory is so wonderful that it begs to be shared if only to give her spirit some substance within the dimension of the living. Although mere words, especially within the constraints of my limited talent of expression, could never capture the essence of this remarkable woman. But Linda Ketner loved me and would certainly forgive my feeble efforts at a proper remembrance. And so, for you, my friend, I share the story that I carry in my heart.

I met Linda in Prescott, Arizona in 1981. She was working as a legal secretary in a law office on my mail route. I’m not sure why I asked her out; she was a couple of years older than me and not really my “type” physically. But she did have a great smile, and her dark Italian eyes sparkled with equal parts of mischief and wisdom as if she was in on some cosmic joke, and my cluelessness was most amusing. Well, whatever it was that created the spark, the resulting fire was to light and warm a friendship that lasted over 20 years.

For the first couple of years, we toyed with romance. We were both single parents with two children. She was Catholic, and I wasn’t. I was on the rebound from a major heartbreak and could not let myself love again, which made her incredibly angry. I moved to Arkansas several months after we met. She brought her kids cross country by bus to visit me there. We spent time at my parent’s small farm in eastern Oklahoma, and she told me later it was the only time in her life she had truly felt at peace and at home. She wanted me to ask her to stay. And I didn’t.

We continued to write and speak on the phone, and I’m not sure how I would have borne the loneliness of that time in my life without her kindness and support. About a year later, she had moved to Phoenix, and I came out to see her. By now, I had come to love her and was finally ready to commit to a relationship. And she wasn’t, at least with me. She had met someone else, and I was too late. Which really pissed her off. I saw firsthand her fiery temper in what we fondly recalled as the refrigerator cleaning incident. As she was emptying the contents of the fridge, she would hurl food items and invectives my way, telling me in colorful terms what an idiot I had been. That actually turned out to be one of our favorite memories that always made us laugh, but it was a pretty intense experience at the time.

So, we both wound up marrying others and going on with our lives. But we always stayed in touch, sharing our trials and joys in long letters, and with the advent of email, our correspondence became even more robust. And she was always there for me, a rock to cling to in stormy seas and a beacon of light on my darkest nights. Her love for me was always unconditional, and even when I screwed up (which was often), she gave me encouragement instead of censure. I’m not sure there is a better definition of friendship.

Looking back, I probably only saw her in person six or seven times over all those years. We were connected in a way that transcended the physical; there was just some power that bonded us in a way I cannot adequately explain. She knew how to touch the places in my innermost being in a way that no one ever had before. She KNEW me. And despite that, she still loved me. I had never known that kind of affirmation, and it was a source of strength and comfort to be blessed with her love.

Whenever I lost myself, she helped me find my way back. She visited me once in South Carolina. The house I shared with my wife was decorated in a manner worthy of Southern Living magazine. She looked around and said, “wow, this is really amazing. But tell me, where do YOU live?” She saw through the lie I had been living for years in five minutes.

Of course, I was only one part of Linda’s life. I’m sure I was important to her, but not the most important. She had her children, her grandson, and on her third try, a husband who was worthy of her love.

Linda was no saint, but she was saintly. I nicknamed her MT2 (Mother Teresa the second). She had an amazing capacity to love. It was her gift. She did things like visiting nursing homes and reading to strangers on a weekly basis. She was always there for the people who needed her most.

As good as Linda was, her life was hard. She was emotionally abused as a child .she married men who treated her badly, but nothing overcome her indomitable spirit. Well, nothing but cancer. But no, the cancer beat her body, but it never beat Linda.

She was first diagnosed in the late 1980s and underwent a double mastectomy. In true Catholic fashion, she told me God was punishing her for her vanity about having large breasts. But she was a survivor. When she reached the ten-year mark without a recurrence, she noted that statistically, she was home free.

Damn statistics. The cancer recurred at twelve years and was inoperable. But she never quit fighting. I know it is cliché to talk about the “brave struggle against impossible odds,” but Linda was the poster child for fighting the good fight against the evil that was eating her body. Her faith, courage, and strength were inspirational to all who knew her.

And just when it seemed things could get no worse, her daughter Amy died from a drug overdose. When I heard the news, I thought Linda would lose her will to live. I think it was touch and go for a while, but Amy’s son needed her, and she fought on. And on. She was in pain most of the time, in mind, body, and spirit, but still, she would not quit. And she never lost herself. I visited Linda a couple of times during the last year of her life and always came away uplifted. It was as if she had had her faith challenged in the most severe fashion and had passed the test. Her reward was acceptance and peace of mind.

Well, maybe not acceptance. The last time we were together was at the hospice. She was drugged up and in and out of consciousness, but early one morning, she awoke while I was sitting at her bedside. She looked at me and smiled, and that same mischievous mirth from the day we met was twinkling in her eyes. We talked about all we had shared, we laughed and cried, and then she squeezed my hand and told me, “this is NOT goodbye.” I don’t know if she was right, but I didn’t argue the point. I love her now as I did then, and she lives on in my heart. If there is a heaven, I know of no one more worthy than her to reside there. She was my angel on Earth, and I miss having her here watching out for me.

As I got up to leave the hospice for the last time, I accidentally tripped on the oxygen tubes that had somehow gotten twisted around my legs. Linda started gasping and clutching her throat. I stood there in shock and near panic. Then she flashed me that big smile and said, “Got ya!”

Yeah, babe, you got me. You got me good.

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On the town

Last night was softtip dart league night. We were playing Danny’s Bar in Hannam-dong. Although we were playing at Jay Bar because Danny’s no longer has an electronic dart board (having replaced it with a baby grand piano). Talk about extreme makeovers.

Anyhoo, Hannam is the next village over from Itaewon, but it is world’s away in terms of atmosphere. Not nearly as many foreigners for example. Savvy readers will remember that I technically live in Hannam, although I am several blocks away from the business district. I actually only rarely go there which is a shame because it is a nice change of pace.

So, the softip league differs from the steeltip version in that about half the teams are made up exclusively of Koreans. And they are good, eight of the top ten players are Koreans. Danny’s/Jay Bar are Korean venues. In fact, the bar staff didn’t speak English at all. So, I got to use my limited vocabulary a couple of times (although teammates Lonnie and Grant are comparatively fluent).

We won 13-0. That is two weeks in a row we have swept the match. Of course it would be dishonest if I failed to mention that both victories came as a result of forfeits. Not sure what is going on, but rumor has it the Korean teams are boycotting because of some controversy that occurred in a big softtip tournament with an American member of the league. Don’t know that that is the case, but it was strange that NONE of the Korean teams showed up last week.

Well, we were there at Jay Bar and had the board to ourselves so we played a couple of rounds and enjoyed some cold beers. Then we crossed the street to check out Danny’s and had another round of beer. Afterwards we cabbed back to Dolce and played some “real” darts (steeltips) and drank more beer.

Mr. Kim, a fine darts player and a good guy showed up. Rare for him these days as he is juggling three businesses and is always working. He immediately challenged me to a game, but I protested I was too drunk to throw and besides I had already put my darts away. He wasn’t hearing it, reminding me that I had put him out of the tournament on Saturday and he wanted some revenge. What are you going to do in that situation but play. Well, the results were pretty predictable as he won 4 of the 5 legs we played. Although given my condition, they were relatively close. I think sober I *might* be able to beat Mr. Kim 40% of the time. Or not.

And then I had a nice surprise when Brian, a friend from the fantasy football league, came in with a Canadian friend of his. We all got to talking and the next thing I know its 2 a.m. It was good to see him again though. BTW, my team lost in the second round of the playoffs last weekend. I had debated which running back to bench, Willie Parker or Clinton Portis. I went with Parker who wound up getting injured in the first quarter and scored me zero points. I would up losing by 10 points, and the difference was sitting on my bench in the person of Mr. Portis. Ah well.

Oh yeah, on the evening of Christmas day we had the bright idea of inventing some dart bar drinks. I don’t know enough about booze to be of any benefit to the creative process, but in a small way I was the inspiration. I was throwing pretty poorly and Jim had ordered a round of drinks. When the barkeep asked what I wanted I blurted out that “I needed a dart lesson”. A light bulb went off in Jim’s head I guess, because the next thing I know he had pen and paper in hand and was working on a recipe. And the shot now called the “dart lesson” was born. Its an ungodly mix of grenadine, jagermeister, Bailey’s and Midori. Given the various consistencies of the ingredients it makes for a layer of dart board colors in the shot glass. Looks good but the taste is pretty gross. So, we decided it would be a punishment drink, i.e., someone throws a bad round of darts and the call goes out to “give that guy a dart lesson”. That should provide some motivation to shoot well. Jim actually worked up a couple of more drinks, including a Ton-80. That consists of two parts Wild Turkey and one part Southern Comfort (to take the edge off). Now, I personally can barely drink whiskey as it triggers a gag reflex. But, Lonnie had thrown a Ton-80 at Jay Bar, so of course we had to give the new drink a try. Yikes, it is powerful concoction! Luckily (for me) Ton-80s are relatively rare.

So, today is the first day of my mini-vacation. I took today and Monday off, so I’m sitting on a 5 day New Year’s weekend. Not doing anything out of the ordinary though. Dart tourneys tonight and Sunday, and a New Year’s eve party at Dolce Vita are about all I have on my agenda.

Been trying to sell my deceased boss’ car for the past couple of months, and finally got a call this morning. So hopefully we will complete the sale on Monday. That will be a worry off my mind.

And that just about brings y’all up to the minute in the exciting world of LTG.

For Avery

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Avery is the sweet girl second from the left. She is the daughter of my second wife and I am the only father she has known. Which is a shame because I have not been a good example of fatherhood for any of my children, but I have been especially neglectful of her. After the divorce I moved to Virginia and I drifted out of her life, seeing her on rare occasions but not ever being there for her. She always remained part of the family, especially with her brother and sister in South Carolina, but my emotional distance far exceeded the miles between us.

And no words here can ever make that right. In a lifetime of too many regrets, hurting her is one of the things I am most ashamed of.

She is an amazing young woman. Smart as hell, adventurous, compassionate, with a zeal for living life to its fullest and making the world around her a better place. I have always been extremely proud of her, even if I never adequately conveyed that to her. She is truly one of a kind and although I get none of the credit for the extraordinary woman she grew up to be, I am grateful that she is my daughter.

She recently graduated from university in Hawaii and I offer her my belated congratulations. I have no doubt that she will leave her mark on the world and touch many lives in a positive way. We share a spirit of wanderlust and I know she will make the most of her life experience on whatever path she chooses.

Words are just words. Yet I hope that in her heart she will sense all the love and respect this flawed man she calls Dad holds for her.

Avery is second on the left.