All Along the Watchtower

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Great Bob Dylan song, but I’ve always preferred the Jimi Hendrix cover.

I mention this because I’ve just completed my journey through 76 episodes of Battlestar Galatica.  And that tune provides a thread in the story.

BSG was one of those shows that began and ended while I was living full-time in Korea.  I wasn’t really into the (Ben Cartwright) version of the show and probably wouldn’t have watched this one either except for two things:  People whose opinion I respect spoke favorably of it and Netflix made it pretty damn easy to do (I have the proverbial time on my hands these days anyway). What can I say of my viewing experience?  I found the concept of the series intriguing, the story lines alternately engaging, irritating, frustrating, and sometimes confusing, but in the end I’d rate the overall series as being mostly enjoyable.

Now you can see why I don’t write reviews for a living.  Television I suppose contributes to the vast homogenization of our society, and this trying to include something pleasing for everyone tends to result in displeasing me.  You know, I could have done without all the allusions to current political events and the unfairness of contemporary American society.  I mean, if I can’t escape that crap in a deep outer space fantasy, I might as well head back to Korea.  Which I’m fixing to do.

Suffice to say, I’d have probably cut a third of the episodes and enjoyed it all the more.  Otherwise, the series kept me mostly entertained and I guess that was a purpose fulfilled.  Now, the Big Hominid has written up a series of ongoing reviews and considerations which are quite outstanding in their insights and perspectives, especially regarding the theological aspects of the show.

There must some kind of way out here…

Makin’ Aiken

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These past several days I’ve gotten off my lazy ass and worked at practicing my dart game.  The picture above represents the highly coveted and rarely thrown 6 bulls (aka “three in the red”, “triple double”, and “lucky bastard”) which I accomplished yesterday.  Of course, I threw it in practice which is pretty much meaningless.  But Jee Yeun was excited enough about it to snap a photo, so there it is.

I can definitively report that the old saw “practice makes perfect” is pretty much pure bullshit.  However, I’ve seen some evidence that practice does in fact help you improve.  I’ve found that my inconsistency is somewhat less consistent, which is to say that I totally suck less often than usual lately.  Obviously, I’m pretty darn happy about that.  I’m still throwing bricks (three darts, no hits) more than I’d like, but the triples seem to be coming more than they used to, and as any darter will tell you, a few triples can mask some otherwise terrible throws.

So, Wednesday night was the finale of the Puddlin’ Duck league here in Columbia and we played it out as ten man (well, nine men, one woman) singles event.   I had the good fortune to prevail in spite of myself and that victory gave me enough points to be crowned league champion (although there is technically no crown awarded).  I unseated my nemesis James Mabie, but to be fair he wasn’t there to defend his ranking these past few weeks.

Feeling inspired and full of confidence (not to mention bored with sitting around the house) we made the drive out to lovely Aiken, SC to partake in the blind draw tournament at the VFW post.   I’ve been meaning to get out there and give it a try for several months, but one thing leading to another and all (a nice way of avoiding the word “lazy” don’t you think?) I hadn’t had the opportunity.  I’m so damn spoiled by public transportation in Seoul that I just can’t seem to wrap my mind around the idea of driving over an hour to get to a darts match.   But the reality is that Columbia is pretty much a darts wasteland, so it’s drive or lay on my amazingly comfortable couch perusing the thousands of programs available through the miracle of Netflix and satellite TV.

There’s lots to like about the VFW venue.  10 boards, cheap beer, very friendly people, indoor smoking, some excellent players, and almost everyone seemed to be having a good time.  I’m always somewhat uncomfortable my first time in a new dart bar.  I don’t know anyone, no one knows me, and I feel pressured (totally self-imposed) to throw well so I don’t come off as a total dweeb.  Consequently, I usually come off as a total dweeb.  I remember my first night at the Puddlin’ Duck hearing Jee Yeun telling people “really, he’s usually a lot better than this!”.  Sweet girl, always has my back.

But last night, folks were coming up and introducing themselves and telling me how glad they were that I’d made the trip out.  Just good old fashioned Southern Hospitality.  I also had the good fortune to draw a solid partner and we seemed to find away to pick each other up when the need arose (which means, when I had a bad throw, he didn’t and vice-versa).  We fought our way through the winners bracket, had some real battles against players we probably wouldn’t normally beat but did, and came away with first place money.  When I hit the double 9 out for the win in the finals, I couldn’t help but dance a little jig.  Gangnam-style, of course.

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As you can see my partner David was ecstatic about our victory.

It was after one in the morning when we got out of there.  My Garmin took me through 20 miles of dark narrow highways before finally leading me back to the Interstate.  Between Aiken and Columbia, I passed one car with a what I assume was a drunk driver (he was driving in the left lane under the speed limit with his bright lights on) and was passed by one.  Ah, the open highway!  Oh yeah, my odometer hit 55555 during the drive home.  That passes for excitement on the road at 2 a.m., at least for me.

And so ends my tale of dart prowess, long drives, and a pretty damn fine Friday night.

Coming clean about my criminal past

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I’ve been arrested and spent time in jail.  OK, I’ve now admitted it and it feels good to let go of the burden I’ve carried all these years.  Hopefully you’ll agree I’ve paid my debt to society in full and despite the disappointment I’m sure this revelation must cause, I humbly beg your forgiveness.

Why am I coming clean now?  Well, I’ve been sorting through some of my parents’ old papers and I came across the indictment.  I swear, they saved everything.  But it was more than a little disconcerting to find evidence of my criminal past tucked away amongst the crudely drawn cards and elementary school photos.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll share the text of the charges levied against me:

“On or about July 4, 1973, at 18900 Gothard Street, Huntington Beach, County of Orange, [John McCrarey] did willfully, unlawfully and maliciously disturb the peace and quiet of Mrs. Hal Westley Shirey by offensive conduct, and the use of vulgar, profane, and indecent language, in a loud and boisterous manner, in violation of Section 415 of the Penal Code of California.”

I was found guilty, fined, and released with time served (about 4 hours in a concrete holding cell).  No one appeared to testify against me other than the arresting officer.  But the judge kept talking about some woman I’d never even heard of, a Miss Demeanor.  (bada bing).

Now, as bad as those charges sound, I was not completely without justification for my behavior.  Here’s the rest of the story:

It was Independence Day and my girlfriend, Gail Weed (yes, real name), and I were planning on enjoying the Huntington Beach 4th of July parade.  Gail was driving (she had a sweet ’65 Mustang Coupe).  Finding a place to park was a bitch, and for some reason they had blocked off Gothard street with a single barrier saying “road closed”.  We observed several cars driving around the barrier and I told Gail to follow them as there may be a place to park down there.

So, after bypassing the barrier we went down a slight hill and at the bottom were several police cars.  And they were issuing tickets to everyone who had taken the detour.  Yes my friends, it was a classic trap.  We were set up like bowling pins.  Back in those days I had a bit of a temper, and I was pretty pissed about being suckered in such a fashion, especially on America’s birthday!  After the girlfriend received her ticket and we were driving away I expressed my opinion about the whole situation by leaning out the window, extending my middle finger, and shouting in “a loud and boisterous” manner FUCK YOU PIGS!

Apparently the First Amendment doesn’t cover the heartfelt expression of speech in this fashion.  We hadn’t gotten a mile down the road before the police helicopter was hovering overhead.  And then a cruiser was behind us with red lights flashing (they were red, not blue, in those days).  We pulled over and were then surrounded by no less than three police cars!  Shortly thereafter the cop who had issued our ticket arrived and announced “yeah, that’s the sonofabitch”.

I was pulled from Gail’s Mustang and was required to answer a series of questions.  One of them that I remember was “do you have any scars, tattoos, or other identifying marks?”  I responded that I had a Battleship tattooed on my ass, and when I shit, it sinks.  That seemed to really make him even more angry, and the next thing I knew I was being thrown up against the the police car, my arms were roughly yanked behind my back, and they slapped the handcuffs on me.  Then it was off to the jailhouse.  For the record, I don’t really have a tattoo.

Dad came and bailed me out a few hours later, and he was even madder than the cop had been.  Which is why I found myself living on my own at the tender age of 17.  But that’s a story for another day.

Anyway, keeping things in perspective, I take solace from knowing that there were numerous occasions of certain other acts in which I regularly engaged that the state deems criminal and for which I was never arrested.  So it all balances out in the end, doesn’t it?

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Who, me?

Voting early and often…

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Well, at least I tried to vote today.  I made the 30 minute drive into downtown and put 50 cents in the meter, only to be told the ballots aren’t ready yet.  They said I should call back around the first of the month.  I’m not leaving until the 4th, so it shouldn’t be a problem.  But if I had left earlier in September like I originally planned, I’d be screwed.

Feeling a little disenfranchised I guess.

Actually, I’m pretty philosophic about the whole voting routine.  My kids have expressed their intent to vote Obama, which is a little distressing (I thought I’d raised them better than that!).  But Romney is going to carry South Carolina regardless, which means their votes are meaningless.  As is mine.  But I still believe the Founders were right to go the Electoral College route.  Otherwise, a bunch of New Yorkers and Californians would get way more power than they deserve.

And that’s what I’ve got to say about that.

Chuckin’ the spears

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I’ve got a pretty sweet dart setup at the house.  Only problem is that I rarely put it to use.  I play one night a week here in Columbia versus three or four (or more) when I’m in Korea.  Consequently, my game really suffers from rust and it takes me a few weeks in Korea to get back up to speed.

For me, it is easy to get motivated to head out to the bar for some beers, social interaction, and honest to goodness competition.  Throwing at my home board by myself is pretty uninspiring.  Still, they say if you want to get better you have to work at it.  And playing with myself (shuddup!) sure does feel like work.  But these past few days I’m putting forth the effort.  Hopefully, it will pay off next time I’m standing at the oche.

Greetings Earthlings

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Sorry to disappoint, but the blog ain’t dead yet.  Life support perhaps, but I’m still liable to show up here whenever you least expect it.

Fact of the matter is my American life is pretty much plain vanilla.  Which is to say, I’ve not been cursed to live in interesting times.  So, there’s that.

Had a nice weekend in DC over Labor Day with my old friends Duke and Ji Young.  It was nice hanging out, and I know Jee Yeun enjoyed having someone to share some Korea talk with again.  Although there was one incident in a hotel restroom.  No, no, not what your thinking.  Jee Yeun and Ji Young were chatting between the stalls, and some woman occupying another stall gave them the old “you’re in America, speak English” routine.  Ah well, sad people living sad empty lives are best ignored I suppose.

While in DC (actually, Sterling, VA) I played in a big dart tourney.  Lots of pros in attendance (including the top 3 U.S. players) so there was no illusion going in about winning any cash.  I made it out of the first round in both my events, so there’s that.  I wound up losing to the player ranked 40th, but I gave him a game of it, so I’ll take whatever satisfaction that gives.  Which isn’t a lot, but still, I always learn something about the game when I play against the best.

We travel back to Korea next month for a 90 day sojourn.  Jee Yeun’s fiancee visa has finally been approved, but of course it has to be issued from the American Embassy in Korea.

I’m looking forward to the change of pace of my Korea life.  Hell, who knows?  Maybe I’ll find something worthy of blogging while I’m there.

And so it goes.

Uncle Bud

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While I was in Memphis last week I got to spend some time with my dad’s brother, Bud.  He was wearing an 8th Air Force ball cap so I asked him to tell us about his service.  From his enthusiastic telling of “war stories”  it seemed clear that the time he spent on those B-17s were among the best years of his life.  He told me about training to be a pilot, eventually washing out, and then being sent to gunnery school.  Which is how he wound up being the belly gunner on the B-17, which he called the best damn plane every built.

He got to England late in the war and flew 19 missions before the Germans capitulated.  He said the guys in the early days had it a lot worse because they didn’t have the P-51 fighter escorts that he enjoyed.  Even so, he remembered having one of those ME-252 fighter jets in his sights for a brief instant, but it was too fast to keep a bead on.  He was glad that they never faced them in force.

Their biggest problem was flak and it was apparently pretty scary stuff.  The got hit frequently (he said after one mission they counted over 100 holes of varying size in the fuselage).  And once they took a direct hit over Germany, it killed the navigator and severely injured the co-pilot.  They lost both starboard engines which made it difficult to control the planes and maintain altitude.  They managed to make it as far as Belgium where they crash landed.  Apparently the Germans had pulled out only days earlier and they made it back to London without being captured.

Anyway, the thing he told me which really struck me was this:  They would normally fly a mission in 3 day rotations, sometimes more often  depending on the targets, and less depending on weather.  Duty rosters were posted on the lavatory door (I guess so everyone would see them eventually).  And if your name appeared on the roster, you didn’t make any plans.  I said why, so you could prepare?  And he said “no, because everyone always assumed they wouldn’t be back.”

I can’t imagine the courage these guys had to have. 

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This is not Uncle Bud’s plane, unfortunately I don’t have a picture of his.

To the sea

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My dad, Walter Lee McCrarey, grew up in Memphis.  My grandfather was a riverboat captain, and like him, my dad loved the Mississippi.  Dad also spent most of his adult life sailing the oceans of the world with the U.S. Merchant Marine.  In fact, he first went to sea at the age of 15 in 1942 serving on the freighters carrying precious war cargo to the UK.

Dad wasn’t a particularly religious man, nor did he have much sentimentality regarding his mortal remains.  Many times he reminded us that it wouldn’t make a whit of difference to him if we threw his dead body on the curb when he gone.  Instead, we donated his body to the University of South Carolina Medical School in accordance with his wishes.  When the medical students were done with him, he was cremated and the ashes were returned to the family.

Well, I was mindful of the fact that he didn’t want any big deal made of his remains, but I nevertheless had a box of “cremains” staying in my house and I wasn’t satisfied with that arrangement.  In consultation with my brothers, it was decided to place some of the ashes at mom’s grave site (she was sentimental that way) and the rest would be deposited in the Mississippi river where they would eventually make their way to sea, just as he had so many years ago.  And so that’s just what we did.

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Dad (standing, 3rd from left) with some of his buddies on a fishing expedition.  I’d like to imagine it was near the same spot on the river where we deposited his ashes.

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Dad in his early days with the Merchant Marine.

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In his later years at sea he was still keeping those big engines turning…

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And he never lost his love for the open sea.

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Brother Keith carrying dad’s remains to the riverside.

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This is the spot we picked to say our final goodbyes.

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Keith recited one of dad’s favorite poems:

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over. 

–John Masefield

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And then we poured him into the muddy waters of the Mississippi river.

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So we said our goodbyes in the best way we knew how.  And then we went on with the business of living.

Time, flowing like a river…

Time, beckoning me
Who knows when we shall meet again
If ever
But time
Keeps flowing like a river
To the sea

Goodbye my love,
Maybe for forever
Goodbye my love,
The tide waits for me
Who knows when we shall meet again
If ever
But time
Keeps flowing like a river (on and on)
To the sea, to the sea

Till it’s gone forever
Gone forever
Gone forevermore

Goodbye my friends,
Maybe forever
Goodbye my friends,
The stars wait for me
Who knows where we shall meet again
If ever
But time
Keeps flowing like a river (on and on)
To the sea, to the sea

Till it’s gone forever
Gone forever
Gone forevermore