Back and Badass

Judging from the title of this post you would probably assume it to mean I'm back on the blog and ready to write more badass posts like I used to. If you know me really well, you might think that I'm about to write about someone's back-side and the bad things that come out of that ass. What can I say? My family is uniquely concerned with bowels and likes to discuss them. My mom loves to discuss which cereal contains the greatest balance of bran to facilitate a perfect poop. This is where I come from. But, alas, I'm not here to talk about terd, even though I just did and have now contradicted myself. I digress. I'm here to talk about how I'm feeling a bit inspired to revisit this forum for my thoughts, and I do feel kind of BADASS right now. 

Before I get going, I should update y'all on my happenings since last updating. When I was writing the last post, I was recounting the details of a most righteous trip to the BWCA. It was both nostalgic and renewed my love for the Northwoods. Because I'm not interested in recounting everything that has happened since then, I'm going to try to sum up my last couple years before the end of this paragraph. After the BWCA I traveled to London, Spain and Morocco with my brother and then girlfriend for about a month. I finished working at the law firm as a temporary office bitch and moved right into a job as an afterschool site coordinator in Oakland. About a year ago, I got engaged to my special lady friend and walked down the aisle with her a little over a month ago. Now she is my wife (imagine a Borat voice while reading that). While engaged, I switched jobs to become a director of a pilot project placing people 55 and older as instructors in afterschool programs. Now I sit on a couch bought with insurance money collected from our stolen-then-found-wrecked Honda watching the toob while my wife rubs elbows and skeet shoots with a bunch of rednecks in Indiana for the sake of selling software. 

You might be thinking to yourself, "gosh, I'd love for Dave to delve deeper into what seems like a couple years filled with fodder for hysterical and reflective blogging magic." Well, ladies and gentlemen, in due time. Even scratching the surface of the last couple years is far too daunting a task than I'm up to right now. Yeah, I know I said I felt inspired, but remember I am still a lazy shit at heart. 

Let's see if we can tackle one anecdotal moment at a time. 

I left a piece of myself in the Sahara Desert. This could be interpreted as some cliche way to describe a transcendental moment in such a vast, awe inspiring, mysterious part of the world. While the Sahara is all of those things, I quite literally meant that I left a piece of myself in the Sahara. 

First of all, let me say that if you're looking for an amazing vacation, Morocco during Ramadan might not be the best choice. There were some golden moments had for sure, but streets littered with either starving loiterers ready to fight or rip-off an unsuspecting tourist or over-bearing rug salesmen soliciting you on a crowded street doesn't spell luxurious and relaxing retreat to an exotic land. I will say, however, exotic is definitely a way to describe the place. So exotic, in fact, that drinking water from the tap will turn you into an uncontrollable, human faucet. 

Unfortunately, almost immediately upon arrival from Marrakesh to the beach town of Essaouira, I got a bug. Having to stay near a toilet hampered my ability to enjoy the beach and sleepy town where Jimi Hendrix and Cat Stevens found inner-peace and lots of hash. Needless to say, I was glued to the room for the remainder of our time in Essaouira. 

I started to feel better when we went to the high atlas mountains in a town with a name that escapes me. A hike up the mountains re-energized my passion for travel, and I was ready for an off-road trip through canyons towards the western edge of the Sahara Desert. We had arranged a flat-rate chauffeur/hotel/meal service to the desert, and while we might have gotten ripped-off with the rate, the service devilvered. 

I don't know if it was the ride over rocky, dirt roads, the hour spent riding a camel's hump or the tagine chicken for dinner, but my stomach was reverting back to where it had been in the sleepy beach town. But as the stars came out and my hash buzz mellowed, I felt like I could slowly drift into a coma until our planned wake-up to watch the sunrise over the endless sand dunes. At about 4am, I awoke to some threatening internal rumblings. I concentrated as hard as possible on how beautiful and clear the stars appeared hoping my pains would pass. After about a half hour of deep introspection and muscle contortion, I surrendered to my urge and began looking for the sanitary tissues. I scoured through my backpack and searched the campground. All I could find was a single tissue left in my backpack. This was sure to get interesting. 

I raced up a dune and couldn't make it farther. Things were gonna blow. I nestled myself next to a desert bush, did my best to situate my position to ensure maximum success and let the faucet run. And it ran. The relief was ecstasy. 

As good as it felt to rid myself of this toxic mess, cleaning up the mess proved to be a challenge. I did what I could with the salvaged piece of tissue from my backpack but still had a lot of work to do. Usually, in the woods, I can find some leaves to help finish the task, but there aren't many leaves in the Sahara. I had to make a sacrifice.

My undies took one for the team that night, and after they wiped the slate clean, I held a short but significant burial ceremony to celebrate their sacrifice and recognize their final resting place in the desert.

After I rested for another hour, I woke up for a majestic sunrise, and I watched it with a brand new sense of freedom. I hope that someday my shorts are found by traveling scientists in search of DNA to clone a depleted human population. I can only fantasize about millions of Bricks roaming the Sahara with irritable bowels. 

So I guess I proved that the Back and Badass of this blog really did have the inappropriately sophomoric meanings I swore would not be included in this blog. What can I say? It's hard to hide your true colors. 

Rotating...

Menahan Street Band--I've been enjoying their new album named after their Jay-Z sampled title track, Make the Road By Walking. 

Isaac Hayes--Hung Up On My Baby Guitar magic. 

The Blackbyrds--Mysterious Vibes This is classic Mizell production. 

The Gap Band--Yearning For Your Love Always a pleasure to hear on the local R&B stations. Good to finally have in the collection. A favorite of the wifey. 

Updating-Part I

Before I start, I just wanted to say that we should call the holiday family film, Unaccompanied Minors, what it really is; Home Alone 4. Also, I'm watching the best Simpsons episode ever when Homer allows the mafia to film porn in his house. It's called "Bonfire of the Manatees."

It's been a while since I've posted here if you didn't notice. I don't know if anyone still checks this blog, but I've got an itch to write and this is the place to do it. Since last checking this blog, I've received a few comments. Thanks to those of you who have been reading. Also, since writing my last post, a lot of changes have happened. Let's get you updated.

I left Korea on July 29th. I know there are tons of stories that I could have written about, but I have forgotten most of them and now regret not updating this very blog. I went straight to San Francisco after leaving and experienced immediate reentry shock upon landing. I had been talking about getting a burrito directly after my special lady friend picked my up from the airport, but got to the taqueria of choice and flipped out. I couldn't deal with all the San Francisco hipsters and freaks in line and had to find a save haven until I could cope with the mean streets.

I'm not one to make a big deal of small things and more often than not try to come off cooler than I am, so I didn't anticipate any real problems readjusting to life in the states. I was wrong. I wouldn't say that I was completely overwhelmed, but I had quite a bit of trouble getting used to side-stepping piss and shit on the sidewalk and ignoring pan-handlers outside of my door step (maybe this description is a bit extreme, but not as far off as you may think). For the month of August, though, I spent some good time getting used to living with others again, catching up with friends and The Grease Traps (my band), getting reacquainted to San Francisco, and taking short trips around the country.

The first trip I took was to sunny Los Angeles although my brother insists that I wasn't in Los Angeles and was only on the "West Side." Marina Del Rey to be exact. All I know is that I flew into LAX and was at my bro's place in less than 10 minutes. It was a quality visit that included plenty of drinking, good beach time, live music, and a $100 meal with a celebrity citing and dispute with the waiter. The lengthy Tim Robbins was at this Wolfgang Puck, asian-fusion, quite delicious but quite expensive restaurant, but the dispute with our waiter overshadowed my lone celebrity citing for the weekend. I paid close attention to how the bill was paid partly because I wanted to know how much I owed, and partly because it was ridiculously expensive. I didn't want anyone leaving me to pay for something like the tenderloin I didn't eat. We all paid, including a 20% tip. I saw it clearly and remember thinking about how it was done because half of us paid with cash with the other half was on cards. The waiter, I believe, pocketed the majority of the tip and left us with roughly twenty dollars to deal with. Let me clarify. He gave us $20 in change when it should have been well over $100. This was his tip. He claimed that was all he got and even humored us by "double-checking" the register to make sure he didn't make a mistake, but I know he put that extra money in his pocket because he thought he had a table of suckers that would dish out a bunch of extra cash to boost his tip. After discussing the issue at length, he told us we could leave and he'd take care of it (a sign that he did have the money). I didn't hesitate standing up and exiting as there was no way I was going to give this guy an even bigger tip out of sympathy. Anyway, LA was cool, but I don't think I'd fit in there and couldn't deal with encounters like this one even though I wouldn't be going out for ridiculously expensive dinners regularly.

The next trip after LA was to the north woods of Wisconsin and Minnesota. I haven't talked about it much in this blog, but this is a part of the country that has taken a huge role in shaping me and will always be a second home to me. I realize now after having been away for so long, that it is not an easy or cheap place to get to, especially if you live so far away. After taking a red eye into Minneapolis, I had to rent a sleek and rather peppy Chevy Impala that I drove for three hours into Lake Nebagamon, WI. This is where I used to work and go to summer camp. I hadn't slept more than two hours but was overcome with adrenaline and nostalgia that carried me through a tour of the campgrounds. With the way this country develops new strip malls and Starbucks, it's comforting to know that there are some places, no matter what happens in the rest of the modern world, that never change. Sure, there was a new coffee shop across from the gas station/supermarket and Mr. Urbaniak is cooking at the Lawn Beach Inn now, but the coffee shop is family owned and the Lawn Beach has always been a staple in the town of Lake Nebagamon. And from what I hear, the food is to die for now. Anyway, my original point of this paragraph was that it's a pain in the ass to get to this place. After I toured around camp and the village of Lake Nebagamon, I had to get someone to follow me to the rental agency at the Duluth International Airport (yes, it's international). This all doesn't include getting up to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area and Wilderness which is another three hours up highway 61. A beautiful drive up the north coast of Lake Superior littered with bait shops, Dairy Queens, and beef jerky wholesalers.

Before we could make our way up the coast, we had to pack for our trip which meant going to the grocery and liquor store to get food and whiskey, essential supplies for a BWCA trip. The grocery store is always fun. Because I've spent countless nights camping under the stars in the Boundary Waters, I've learned quite a few creative ways to cook fresh meals in the woods. So instead of shopping for dried foods and nuts, I spend more time looking for fresh veggies, meats, and cheeses. All six of us going on the trip were in the grocery store for no good reason other than we all had nothing better to do. Since we all were there, we could make menu additions and subtractions without having to worry about someone being unhappy. It never occurred to me that this was unusual until we were stopped by one of the most wicked women, a republican I'm sure, I have ever met in a supermarket. The six of us were debating whether to get three blocks of cheddar and three blocks of monterrey jack or four of each when this woman lashed out at us for exhibiting gang activity. "It doesn't take six guys to shop in a supermarket. I've seen this before and this is gang activity." I tried, at first, to ignore her, but she kept going with her tirade until I just couldn't take it anymore. I can't remember the exact details of our argument, but I do recall telling her that what we were doing was perfectly acceptable and if she continued to harass us, I'd have to alert the staff at the supermarket to have her escorted out of there. She walked off mumbling something and chose to let us continue our gang activities. I still don't know how we were acting like a gang. Maybe that's what the hardcore thugs in Superior, Wisconsin do. They go to supermarkets and buy ridiculous amounts of cheese then drive under the influence. It's called a DUIEC: Driving Under the Influence of Excessive Cheese. The fear is that these kids would OC (over cheese) and suffer from crippling gas that would debilitate them and those within a 20 ft. proximity of them for at least 15 minutes.

I'm going to do what a lot of writers do and leave you hanging for a while. When we return, we'll discuss the rest of the trip in the Boundary Waters and the rest of my various trips around the world.
Also, I would like to point out that this has not been edited at all.

Rotating:

Kissing My Love- Bill Withers Check out the drums in the intro. Brilliant.

Wind Parade- Donald Byrd

Sweet Sticky Thing- The Ohio Players

JC and Salsa

Apparently, I just had a conversation with Jesus Christ. He didn't have much to say, though. His friend did all the talking, but he made it clear that Jesus was right there with us. He began his pitch by showing me a picture of a stick figure standing on a cliff labeled "Man" looking to another cliff labeled "God." He asked me if I was a sinner, and I told him of course I was. He then told me that all I had to do to get to the other side of the cliff was accept Christ as my savior. All those on Man's cliff were destined for hell. I guess JC was telling this guy that he wanted to enter my heart right then and there. All I had to do was let him in. Of course, if I didn't let him in, I would surely go to hell. I asked why I couldn't just stay a Jew and be saved or even accept Allah as my savior, but he shut me down. I guess Jesus is the only person who died for "our" sins. He told me, "Muhammad Ali didn't die for your sins." That's when I lost it and said, "yeah, but he was a hell of a boxer." The guy was embarrassed, but I don't know what Jesus thought of it; he didn't say anything.

I was telling my students about the lunch I made the other day. It was a delicious sandwich with chicken, tomatoes, cheese, lettuce and salsa. Right after I said salsa, my students erupted with laughter. I didn't understand it. I asked them what was so funny about salsa which sparked another wave of hysterics. When things died down a bit, a student told me, "Teacher. Salsa is water poop." That's when I started laughing. In Korean, salsa, really pronounced "sulsah", is diarrhea. I guess I had a tasty chicken, cheese and diarrhea sandwich. Mmmmmmm.

Rotating:

Onda - Cassiano I got this from Avolta Jr.'s podcast. If you like Brazilian music and have a computer, download this podcast. It's magic.

Vidigal - Banda Black Rio

Real People - Common

Strange Affair - Minnie Riperton

A Bad Streak

I haven't had any hot water or internet for the past few days. Apparently, there have been some problems with the boiler in my building and I've been suffering because of it. What boggles my mind is that the boiler is somehow connect to the internet. There have been several halfway successful attempts to fix the two, but every time the hot water disappears, the internet goes with it. They're both back on now, but I don't know for how long. The fact that the boiler and internet could be connected is just another reason for me to believe that this country is completely fucked in the head.

Cold showers and no access to the information super-highway made me a grumpy man, especially when the Royals have won 6 out of 7 and 8 out of their last 11 (I subscribe to the MLB package where I can watch every game live on my PC). Staying up till seven in the morning Saturday to watch a disappointing ending to the Korean's World Cup only contributed to my fowl mood. It was absolutely amazing to see 700,000 people wrapped up in the hype gather in the middle of Seoul to cheer on their team. Too bad they didn't even create a decent chance all game. Of course, in typical Korean fashion, my students are claiming that the Swiss team didn't play fair and, thus, don't deserve the win. I digress. Already grumpy, I made my way to the market to get a phone card to call my special lady friend on her birthday. I wasn't happy to pay for a ten dollar card that would only give me an hour of conversation when I can get ten hours of talk time for the same price, but I had no choice as my internet was out of commission. When I got home to use the card, the automated voice on the other end of the receiver told me my card number was invalid. Not cool. I rushed back to the store and gave the clerk and ear-full of English he surely didn't understand. He handled my outburst rather well and pointed to the service number on the card. I thanked him and walked back home to give the company a call. The way my luck was working, there was no way that the operator would speak English, and he didn't. He told me to call back the next day. I tried to explain that tomorrow didn't work for me, but I knew I was out of my element. So I went to another store to get another ten dollar phone card that worked. The problem was, I overlooked a major detail in this whole process.
I rarely look at calendars and often depend on my instincts for the date. I was convinced that Saturday was the 25th. No doubt. As everyone in the world now knows, Saturday was the 24th. When I finally got in touch with my lady friend, my 'happy birthday' was met with a 'thanks, but today isn't my birthday.' I'm such an idiot.

As if this all wasn't enough for me to slit my wrists, I got another surprise this morning. Hot water and internet returned yesterday and I was convinced they were here to stay. When I was trimming my hair this morning, I didn't think to check if the boiler was working. With hair that isn't normally attached to my shoulders covering them, I had already committed myself to the shower. Of course, I was in for another cold one. I braced myself and tried to take it like a man, but I screamed like a little girl when the water hit me.

I'm looking for some better luck.


Rotating:

El Sol - Zwan

Passing By - Zero 7

Common Ends - The Rebirth

Funkier Than a Mosquito's Tweeter - Nikka Costa I like the original by Nina Simone too, but Ms. Costa's cover has a great, lively arrangement.

Still Here

I've started writing a few blogs in the past couple weeks, but haven't been able to focus for long enough to complete something worth publishing. For those of you who have consistently read this blog, you'll understand just how bad my recent writing attempts must have been. It's taken me a half hour just to write this sentence, but I'm going to try to push on through.

It's been a good couple weeks. The folks were here last week for a short and sweet visit, and it was nice to see a fresh perspective on Korea. They seemed to enjoy it here and their appreciation of the country helped me look at things a little more positively. This doesn't mean I want to stay any longer though. As I've said before, I really like Korea. I've enjoyed my time here and would've considered staying longer if I didn't have any attachments back home. I do have attachments though, and nothing in Korea can take the place of what's at home. So that's that.

Living in the states my whole life, I haven't really had the opportunity to enjoy the magic of the World Cup. Americans just don't watch soccer. Anyhoo, I've become a bigger soccer fan and entered a pool at work. 2000 won per team. Since there are a good number of people at work, most only got one random pick. I got South Korea. They finished fourth last time, but will not do it again, so I can just throw that 2000 won away. Unexpectedly, during one of my classes, I was summoned into the hallway for a second pick I had requested earlier in the day. Three teams were left. I didn't know who, but I had a feeling the odds favorite were still there. I blew in my hands and grabbed number 20. And the team was...Brazil! As long as they finish in the top three, I'm guaranteed to get my money back and then some. Since I was one of three people to get two picks at school, I've made a few enemies, but I don't really care as long as I get paid. Having Korea as my other pick helps ease the pain they all must feel. I love the pride they have in their country. At any point in the day you can see on TV a) Korea v. Turkey in the last World Cup, b) Korean speed skating from this year's Olympics, or c) Korea in the World Baseball Classic. They don't forget.

Rotating:

I Can Dig It Baby- Little Beaver

Supernatural Thing- Ben E. King

Lady Day and John Coltrane- Gil Scott-Heron

Concrete Reservation- Syl Johnson

Extreme Eating

All of the employees at the school took a vacation to Sok Cho, which is really nice. I would have liked a little more time to take in what the town has to offer, but when you're on a school trip with thirty or forty people, there isn't much time to deviate from the plan.

Aside from the time he got me a box of KFC when we were at a posh beef restaurant, my boss always tries to take care of me when we're out for school meals. He hooked up a nice chicken soup while everyone went for beef, and the rest of the meals were somewhat friendly to my diet. If you know my diet--more importantly, if you know what my diet was while growing up--you'll be surprised to hear what I was eating.

I always said I wouldn't eat live octopus while over here, and I still haven't. I did, however, eat a moving squid tentacle that had just been cut from a live body. It was chewy. I couldn't fight through it fast enough. While the squirming squid was awful to think about, it didn't taste bad. The sea creature described to me by some as a "penis-fish" (apparently it looks like one) was the same. Chewy, nasty looking and awful to think about, but not horrible. The thing that really got me was the sea urchin. The spikes on the outside move and the insides either look like a baby's vomit or stool. Either way, you don't want to put it in your mouth. Since it's soupy, the taste is a total mystery until it's in your mouth. Once it does hit your lips, it actually tastes like shit. After a few seconds in the mouth, though, it somehow seems to get even worse. I don't care how good it is for you, it is the worst thing I have ever put in my mouth.

This is what I don't understand about fine dining. Why we are compelled to eat exotic things that taste like complete ass is beyond me. I understand that some need to eat odd things out of necessity, but if you can afford to eat well, why not eat something that tastes good? I just don't get the logic behind spending loads of cash on a dish that may or may not make you gag. Quite the gamble. I feel as though I could feed a dog some expensive mountain vegetables, let that process through his body, mix it with some white truffles when it comes out the other end and sell it for fifty bucks an ounce. As long as I tell poeople it will make you strong, it will sell.

I like things that taste good, and those things cost 12000 won ($12) per box when delivered to your door in thirty minutes. Eight pieces of pure heaven. Sure fried chicken legs might not be healthy, but if I want to worry about my weight, I can buy some vegetables from one of the thousands of produce markets I pass on the way to work and steam up a delightful snack. Don't take this as me not appreciating the lovely meal the other night. As long as it's not a mammal, I'm willing to try some new things. I just prefer a little fried chicken for a treat rather than something that tastes like poop. I guess my boss had the right idea when he served up some KFC at a classy restaurant.

Rotating (I don't feel like writing descriptions):

Mishaps Happening- Quantic

Can You Get To That- Funkadelic

Dukey Stick- George Duke

Stop On By- Rufus with Chaka Khan

Below the Belt

It's hard to surprise me these days. I've gotten used to weird cultural differences and rarely think twice when put in awkward situations. This is part of the reason why I haven't been writing much lately. Bizarre things happen all the time, but these strange situations are so common that they have almost become normalized. Whenever something weird happens, I always think I should write about it, but I forget far too quickly.

Having said that, I woke up this morning still shaken by what happened last night. I wasn't thinking about my cab ride home when the driver almost killed us on three separate occasions or the ajumma that called me an idiot when I tried to order my kimbap without ham (they didn't think that the stupid white man could understand idiot in Korean). What I'm thinking of all started when I joined some friends for a birthday celebration. Since the birthday boy is gay, he wanted to go to "homo hill" for some fun. Going to a gay club in Korea is kind of funny. I went once before but was disappointed that I didn't get hit on even once. I just want to know that I'm desirable. I guess the scruffy beard, baggy pants, and the fact that I'm straight and in a relationship never attracted any men. I could be wrong, but I don't think that I scream homosexuality in my general appearance and attitude. For some reason though, I was on fire last night. It might have been my freshly trimmed hair and beard or that I actually ironed my clothes before I went out. All I know is that I was attracting more gay men than a Madonna concert. Ok, maybe not, but two or three guys were feeling my vibe. One particular short, chubby Korean man seemed to be a little too into me. I was dancing with some girls I was with when he approached me. Had I seen him coming, I could have prepared myself, but he snuck up on me without warning. I thought he was just passing by. Nope. Out of nowhere, he grabbed my reproductive organs. When I say reproductive organs, I mean my balls. And when I say grabbed, I mean full cuppage. This sparked an immediate reaction of me throwing his hand and shaking my head. I didn't think it was necessary to freak out in order to prove my masculinity, especially not in a gay bar. I just laughed about the situation and told all my friends I just got my balls fondled in the middle of the club. A few minutes later, I felt a tapping on my shoulder while I was ordering a drink. It was the same guy standing behind me giving the most pitiful wave I've ever seen. All I could think of was Scotty from Boogie Nights, but this guy didn't have any feelings of remorse. He was just as pitiful though. I told him I'm not gay and not interested. I think he got the point as I didn't see him for the rest of the night.

I've seen and experienced a lot of things here in Korea, but I never thought that I would have my nuts in a Korean man's hand. I don't recommend it and won't be trying to do it again. I did surprise me, though, and gave me some good material for writing.

Rotating:

Police and Thieves- The Clash You can hear the rock, reggae and funk influence on this one. It's a quality tune that has just the right amount energy and cool.

Heavy Love Affair- Marvin Gaye A very dancable tune with some nasty bass and even some tasteful whistling. I played this in my DJ set the other night.

I don't have anything else for you right now. Any suggestions?