Corn Flakes with Steve Perry and my Double Neck Flying 'V'

What the hell is that noise?

The alarm clock does its dirty work at the god-awful hour of 6:45 (a normal, if not late, time for most). I reach over, blind and nearly deaf, to turn off its damned blaring. It is a cliched start, to a rather un-cliched morning.

But I am not ready to get out of bed just yet, so I roll back over and close my eyes with a yawn. Mindy is up almost at the sound of the alarm and jolts out of bed. She has found it wise to jam her usual 1 hour of morning prep time into an alarming 45 minutes. A feat that any woman would find impressive. I like to give myself a full 1 hour and 25 minutes to get ready even though I can get ready in under 15 minutes.

I use this time in the following way. This is my morning:

I finally step out of the bedroom door to a radiant and formless blond blur; that runs, scampers, jolts, and slides across the floor. No words are exchanged, but if there were I am sure they would never be heard, as anything moving that fast cannot receive or transmit sound of any kind. The laws of quantum physics would not permit it. As I stretch and take in a deep breath I scratch places and saunter to the bathroom for my morning ritual. I will spare you the details.

I step out of the bathroom, eyes still half shut, and shuffle to the computer ensuring I am not hit by the whizzing blond light. I manage to avoid one of its countless passes - no doubt sparring me certain death. Making my way from the bathroom to the computer is like a very deadly game of Frogger. When I am lucky enough to make it I sit down in the computer chair, and bolt forward as the cold wood of the back touches me - the speed of my movement shocks me momentarily. I don't like to move fast in the morning. I manage to find some good music after a bit of searching.

Ray Charles? Na. Chopin? Na. Balenescu Quartet?...No. Today we need something special.
A little "Journey" should do it. Rock me Steve Perry.

Hitting play, I sit back, pleased with my selection and let the sublime incantations of some of 80's best rock wash over me like a warm blanket. I am at peace with the world. Visions of Trans-ams, tight acid washed jeans, mullets and Molly Ringwald dance around in my head. Suddenly jerked from my trance, the blond light whips by me and briefly touches my cheek. It faintly resembles a kiss, but leaves a searing pain from contact at such high speeds. Blowing by me, it slows down slightly before reaching the door - I recognize it, it is Mindy. I wave goodbye and before she reaches top speed again I hear a faint and trailing, "Love you! Have a goo.....". Soon to follow, I hear the screaming of small innocent Korean children on the street below. The Blur stops for no one.

I slowly pour a bowl of corn flakes and continue to listen as Steve Perry belts out "Don't Stop Believin".

In one slow motion I raise a defiant fist in the air and join him. He brings a tear to my eye that drops into my cereal. Steve Perry can make a grown man cry. I put the box of corn flakes, and my fist, down and munch away. Dabbing my eyes with the back of my hand. Occasionally, I "sing" unintelligible lyrics through the mush in my mouth:

'ust a small 'down griril. Bon and waised in Sous Detroit...hidin fomewhere in da niii'ight...da da da..don stob bewevin!!

Inevitably, around 1 min into the song, the spoon is taken from my cereal and morphs into a Double Neck Flying 'V' Guitar. This transformation leaves drops of milk spattered across the floor in a testament of my loyalty to 80s music. At this point, if I had a collar, I would pop it.

I finish my cereal, clean the milk off the floor, and realizing I just air-guitared in my boxers, I decide to get dressed. My eyes are open and I am cognizant enough to make decisions so I make my way to the closet. I look up and down and use a milk-stickied hand to grab a pair of old hiking pants and a button up shirt. I pull it over my shoulders, button it up, walk to the bathroom to brush my teeth, finish and realize I still have 10 minutes left. I hear Steve Perry who is now singing "Oh, Sheri".

Putting on my shoes and strapping on my pack I pause just before the door and one last time I raise a fist to the ceiling and listen. Eyes closed. Head bobbing in rhythm. I do an entire windmill downstroke on my Flying V. It is this dramatic motion that prepares me for the day. I grab my keys and walk out the door.

This is my morning.

-Scott

Xenophobia and Sitting in the Back of the Bus

First and foremost, I would like to take a moment to discuss the utter tragedy that was the voting for "Who is Coolest?" I find it hard to believe that I lost to a sadistic dictator and a short, overly opinionated blond haired woman. For the sake of democracy I, as Supreme Blog Dictator, have made the results null and void as I fear there was tampering with voting machines. There were also rumors that lobbying was utilized by certain parties and I would like to take this moment to take a stand against those that would dirty the good name of democracy for personal gain by utilizing these means. I would like to submit the following evidence order to further the case of tainted voting: my own mother did not vote for me. My OWN mother! I am not so much saddened by my loss as I am saddened that the democratic system - a system that has evolved from ancient Greece, through the Parliaments of England and the cantons of Switzerland- has failed you, the people. Please, do not weep for me, but rather weep your country's declining morals. I can only hope that the next voting opportunity will breed the best of my constituents and those eager to play an active role in the democratic process.

For future votes, steps have been put in place that will keep such outrageous transgressions in check and in line....with the Supreme Dictator's wishes.

Speaking of voting I have been riding the bus a great deal in Korea (poor transition, I know). Living amongst South Korea's 48 million people in a space the size of Washington State requires a comprehensive understanding of public transportation. I do not have this understanding and am therefore completely lost. Failing to know which bus to take can lead to you ending up in the wrong place with NO idea how to get back and even less of an idea how to communicate this to anyone. This is important because everyday I take a bus and I am confronted with a difficult question, "Where do I sit?" Simple? No. Never before my morning coffee. I have sat in the front because of its quick and easy access and I am lazy. I have sat in the middle on days of indifference. And I have sat in the back on days I wish to retain my anonymity as a minority. On one such day of decision making Mindy and I chose to situate ourselves in the back of the bus. It was quiet, comfortable, the seats were wider, and we felt slightly more "chauffeured". Plus, the "carnival ride feeling" was greater in those seats. It is hard to understand this last one unless you are in my head. These qualities beg the question, "Why is everyone so up in arms about sitting in the back of the bus?" Personally, I like it just fine! It is through this lens that I would like to begin the following discussion. It is entitled, "What the Hell is Up with Korean culture? Or Racism as Examined through Honest Personal Reflection."

I have a Masters in Political Science and Comparative Politics. I have studied other cultures. Aren't I supposed to be more "learned" and tolerant. I am not and I must not have gotten my money's worth because for brief moments here I feel like a racist. I heard you all let out a collective *gasp*! Well, have you ever been told one thing when someone actually meant something else because they were too embarrassed to say the truth?!... of course you have! But have you ever lived in a culture who is populated with many - not all, but many - people who strictly follow this rule? Probably not and if you have and don't feel that way I am going to kindly ask you to stop reading my blog because you are better than I am and I can't stand that! Before I go any further, I need to stress, that no, of course I am not a racist towards Koreans and, I would like to think that I am not towards others as well. I am simply being honest and giving voice to the part of me that has, at times, these types of reactions. This is not to say that I condone these brief thoughts they are just natural reactions to being gawked at, singled out, being out of the cultural loop, being alone, and not understanding. Ironically, this post is an attempt for me to understand. Further, as all my posts go, it should be read with a grain of salt.

My greatest frustration comes when asking for directions or help at work from those that can understand me. Many times when I ask a Korean if they know something the answer is always a resounding "Yes", or a variation of the affirmative. The problem is that with many people the answer is always this way, which means one of two things: 1) I am always getting what I want from them 2) they are lying and being nice. As much as I wish it was Door #1 all evidence points to Door #2. Yes, we have all experienced this from people in the States. In fact, maybe some of you are more prone to this type of "yes" mentality. I for one, have my moments with it. What I am addressing though is culture not occurrence. Yes, degree does make a difference. This comes from the Korean tradition of "saving face." I heard about the phenomenon of "saving face", but had no idea it was so pervasive and overt. Much of the younger generation is much less ruled by it, but I work with adults as bosses, so this leads to problems. I am talking about a culture that is institutionalized and that will tell you what you want to hear to the point that you will be misled and lost because of the fear of saying, "Gee, I don't know." All because that person wants to save face. Get a spine! I can't describe to you the frustration of teaching in a class and asking for materials that you need, being told they have them, then finding out, all too late, that they never did. Or, being given directions to a city far away only to find out they never knew the directions in the first place and just, essentially, made them up. "Oops, sorry I just didn't want to say 'no'. Hope that didn't cause you any trouble." It is infuriating for someone such as myself: It is something that is foreign to me, that I don't understand, and that, naturally, as a result of these factors, I don't like.

My tolerance for things such as these is made even weaker due to other cultural differences. For instance, women are relegated to more a 2nd class citizen here. In that states women are slowly making there way out of the economic disparity with men though they still make 80 cents to a man's $1. In Korea, many women are quiet, humble, polite, laugh with a hand over their mouth and are submissive to the man of the house.....Hey, sounds like a good dream I had once!! Ha, kidding. In fact, it is really denigrating and frustrating. Mindy is looked over and not asked to participate in any of the sporting events when I am around because I get asked and she is not even considered because she is thought to not want to play. If I am not around, she is not asked at all. In so many ways, women, in my opinion, are treated with a great deal of disrespect.

"Why are you complaining, women can't play sports! You are supposed to sit there, cook and look pretty damnit!"

Yeah, you go machismo.

Further, from what I have seen, men do not like to be criticized by women in front of other men because it can make them feel denigrated. Really, well tit for tat my friend, too bad you invited Mindy over here because she is going to give you an earful! Let the denigration begin! Am I an ignorant foreigner who does not understand the subtleties of another culture? Yes, I am. Does this mean I can't give me two cents worth? Well, apparently that depends on who you are asking.

To keep this from becoming anymore than the novel that it has become let me close this up. I like the back of the bus and some people, for good reason, don't and that is OK. But just because I prefer the back of the bus don't try to make me enjoy the front just because it is the culturally sensitive thing to do. I do have my moments of xenophobia and I don't like them. I am going to work on being more tolerant. But I can appreciate our differences without embracing them.

....Ok, it is here that I have now gotten to the real point of this email. I am lobbying for your vote in future elections. Be it out of pity or the justified disdain of past results, I am going to appeal to your better half....Vote Pelton in '08.

-Scott

HOLY SHIT

This last weekend Mindy and I decided to give South Korea's version of Disneyland a try. I read about Everland online and was rather skeptical that it would provide anything more than the "thrill" of an elementary school bake sale. Yes, the website listed roller coasters, but really how cool can a South Korean theme park be? I expected a toned down Enchanted Village. What do Koreans know about thrills and adrenaline? The most thrilling thing I had seen a Korean do was maybe walk up to me, say hello in English and then run off giggling. Well, apparently I am a fool because by the end of the day I had nearly lost my voice, I was completely drained and every muscle in my body was aching. Always leaning towards self-preservation rather than risk bodily harm the few roller coasters I have been on in my life have been a difficult sell. Somewhere between dental work and voluntary circumcision. Then again, every ride I have been on I have absolutely loved. It is like getting kicked in the groin, loving it, and asking for more.

Ranging from cars that ride on the rails to ones that are suspended below the rails; to loops, corkscrews, jerks, flips, and drops Everland's roller coasters were a veritable cornucopia of pain and near death experiences. The T Express was probably the most intense as it boasted the "largest 77 degree drop in the world". This claim is coming from a theme park whose poor English...

Can someone tell me what the hell this is supposed to mean?

...is spelled out through the entire park. But even if it isn't the biggest 77 degree drop in the world you need to know what 77 degrees feels like; it feels like you are about to die...seriously. If I had the ability to jump off before we dropped I most definitely would have. Right before we dropped Mindy put it best when she said something to the effect of, "I DON'T KNOW. I DON'T THINK WE SHOULD DO THIS!!! I DON'T THINK WE SHOULD DO THI... HOOO-LY SHIIIIIT!!!" The slow climb to the top of the hill, the painfully slow ride to the edge, and then the split second of silence as the fear suffocates your vocal chords as you begin to drop. That is followed by your head ringing from your own screaming. Sounds pleasant, uh? Whoever the sage individual was that said, "You die a thousand deaths before you actually die" never rode a roller coaster. The real life drops and spins are definitely worse then the thought of experiencing them. I must say though that the thrill is second to none and that I plan to go back many times. When I learn how to imbed videos in this blog you will get an idea of what the ride was like - I videoed the whole ride.

-Scott

Pics In and Around Gwangju

Gwangju is not exactly the most beautiful place either of us have either been too, but it really isn't all that bad. What it lacks in attractive city planning it makes up for in great restaurants, a quaint park, and the opportunities for adventures in a new place. These are just a few pictures to give you an idea of what our "little" city (300,000 people) and "villa" (as our apartment is formally called) are like. We can't stand all the white in it, so we are just beginning to redecorate it. Most of the pictures are of the park and me just messing around with our new camera. The last few are taken from the top of our villa and looking into the surrounding outter region of Gwangju City - we are on the outskirts of it.

-Scott

Look Into the Turn

We had been in Thailand for around two weeks and had made our way to the sleepy little island of Koh Lanta (in Thai, Koh means "island", but I have no idea what Lanta means) off the west coast. Up until this point we had spent a few days in Bangkok where I picked up a guitar for 30 bucks, where we ate 75 cent Phad Thai, and paid $7 a night for a room. According to Mindy, the experienced Thai traveler, $7 was too much. Apparently, leaving the states does not mean we get to leave the crappy dollar behind too. The guitar now only has five strings and has seen its way all the way across Thailand, through the cities, on long bumpy open ocean boat rides, and through down pours. It has made it to Korea safely. Hopefully I will play it again.

Before Koh Lanta we spent three nights on Koh Pi Pi where we scuba dove in some amazing waters, or at least I thought they were amazing until we went scuba diving in the Similan Islands at the end of our trip. So there we were on Koh Lanta lounging by the pool of our cheap $10 bungalow soaking up the sun. By the way, if you are ever in Thailand ensure you stay awake while you are laying in the sun. At one point I woke up, wiped the drool off my shoulder, stared through my waking haze at what I thought were two dead prone flamingos, but were just my two crispy legs. Koh Lanta is a great little island if you are looking for some relaxation, relatively cheap and delicious food (Southern Thailand is a little more expensive than the north), decent beaches, great sunsets, quaint beach bars, and the occasional burka. Yes, I said burka, there is a higher percentage of Muslim's on this island and in the south. I must say I am not only concerned, but a little curious how a woman in complete body coverage, not to mention black material, is able to remain pious in 95 degree heat. I for one would be pretty pissed and I would at least ask my local mosque for a steady supply of ice packs to alleviate my suffering. Call me culturally insensitive.

At some point, as we sat next to our glistening pool and while I rubbed lotion into my screaming culturally insensitive thighs, we decided to rent a motor scooter. It was still early in the morning when we got the keys to our little machine. As we hopped on the little two wheeled demon I took my rightful place, in the back ;-) Mindy started it up and took off down the bumpy dirt road, my hands attached like eagle talons to the passenger grip on the back of the bike. Considering Mindy has owned a Harley I felt like it would be safer for her to drive. Besides, sitting in the back and just chilling was so relaxing. As we zoomed down the highway, weaving in and out of cars, passing on the right and left, over double yellows, and tailing cars within a few feet we passed many other couples who had rented scooters. What was different was that, as far as I could see, the dude was always in the front. At some point during the trip Mindy asked me, "Do you feel emasculated because you are riding on the back and I am driving?" I had to think about it for a bit, but I just said, "No....should I? I mean if you ask me I am getting the better end of the deal anyway!" I mean I have a chauffeur! Emasculated?! You mean "smart". But this whole discussion was a moot point in a few hours. After playing darts at a beach bar with a local I decided to jump on the scooter.

Before I explain what happened I want to make clear that earlier in the day I had driven all over the island with no problem. In fact, I was a stellar scooter driver.

Okay, I started it up and shot down the dirt road and out towards the highway. I pulled up behind another scooter that was waiting for the road to clear to pull out. After he did, I followed suit and pulled up to the road. It was a little busy, but I wasn't too worried about it. I had to take a right and because they drive on the left hand side I had to cross the street. Well, I looked right and left, waited for a car to pass and just hit the gas. All I remember is Mindy starting by calmly saying, "Ok, look into the turn, look into the turn......OK, LOOK INTO THE TURN, LOOK INTO THE TURN!! SCOTT!!!" To put it simply I just hit the gas and headed straight across the street. I, maybe, turned 10 degrees to the right, but essentially just shot across two lanes of traffic and hit the ditch. This was only the beginning as I not only failed to hit the brakes at this point, but I hit the gas instead. I did start to look into the turn once I hit the ditch, so we were riding along side the road in a grass ditch. I am sure it looked pretty comical to those driving by: two foreigners on the back of a scooter, screaming for their lives, and in a ditch; yet, not just in a ditch, but driving in a ditch. Unfortunately, the scene in the ditch was a little different. I was laughing, trying to hide the fact that I had almost killed us and Mindy was trying to keep from killing me. I hopped off and Mindy grabbed the handle bars, hit the gas and directed the scooter out of the ditch, but not before getting a bruise on the back of her calf from a passenger peg. That was the last time I drove a scooter in Thailand.

The rest of the day we drove around Lanta. Coincidentally, we rented the scooter on the first day of the Thai Lunar New Year, SongKran. During this celebration Thais stand on the side of the road with huge buckets of water and a mixture of baby powder and water. When people on scooters come by, and there are thousands of them, you had better follow their hand directions and slow down. If you don't, and a few times we didn't, you will get a bucket of water full-force across your face. If you slow all the way down they will walk up to you and cover you in the white paste. After that you are free to drive off. Mindy said that some foreigners get upset during SongKran. We were also splashed by trucks coming the other way. They had 55 gallon drums of water in their beds and people crowded around it with buckets, laughing, and throwing huge sheets of water onto passers by, including us. The water was great in the oppressive heat and made the rest of the day exciting even if it was a little scary to occasionally get splashed at over 50 km/h. It was such a great memory. Just think what would happen in the states under these same circumstances: There I am, standing in 85 degree heat on Holly Street in Bellingham, with a buck full of water and throwing it on passing bikers, then attacking and painting them with baby powder. I would be arrested for "reckless behavior" and "endangerment" by a bike cop, hand cuffed, thrown in jail, arraigned, and I would have to get a lawyer and plug up legal system.

I will leave you with this parting bit of wisdom. Remember, look into the turn as you may never know what is coming. Whether it be baby powder, a bucket full of water, or a ditch it is always better when you see it coming!

-Scott