Angst and Such

I came home last night, and found a circus in my house. The Bohemian had decided with out consulting with me that we would be having a party. I usually enjoy having a party and with a hedonistic joy I for the most part join in the festivities. Unfortunately last night I was not in the mood. When I came home and found a dozen strangers frolicking in my house I was angry.

I managed after some social jockeying to talk to The Bohemian more or less alone. I told him how much I did not appreciate feeling like a guest in my own apartment. He looked at me and laughed. “Aye laddy” he cheerfully grinned. “Does ye expect I be following the rules” he added.

I was wordless. There I was in my own house and The Bohemian could’t’ be bothered to communicate that we were having a party. I was pissed. Not only were we having a party but when I asked a long time friend of The Bohemian what he was doing in my living room he told me to piss off as if I was a person of no consequence in my own house.

As you all know, The Bohemian has been my tried and true friend though all of our problems and travails. I felt I should give him the benefit of the doubt but his friend’s claim was almost more than I could bear.

I went to bed thinking about our situation. I often confuse where I end and other people begin. I hope I can learn tolerance and forgiveness. Unfortunately, the day for tolerance has yet to arrive. I live as I have always tried to live trusting that The Bohemian will not forsake our trust and wound me beyond that which I can endure.

A Little Post

I have a little blog. I nurture it infrequently and do not give it the care and proper feeding that would make it into a big healthy blog. The posts are hatter scatter and the writing sub par. But the one thing I will say for my tiny lil corner of the net is that I don't hide behind my blog.

I did something I shouldn't have a few day ago. I fed a troll. He attacked a person who I feel holds no ilwill towards any and I chose to feed him with my angst. I apologize, this lil corner of the net is purely for putting out there things that might make us think. I'm not a great or even a good writer. I'm a nobody, and as a nobody I surf the net. If I see something I disagree with or heavens forbid something that offends I move on with my life. In this one case I didn't. I feel stupid.

I suppose I could have left an anonymous comment and not left myself open to ridicule by others. This is the way of the coward who doesn't understand that every communication whether it be email, blog or old fashioned letter is truly a part of who we are. We splatter ourselves on a page and invite the world to judge us.

Does my writing suck? Perhaps, am I a big fat 'Al English Teacher'? I'm not sure how to answer that accusation. I'm not an English teacher although if I was I wouldn't be ashamed. Am I a gay prostitute? Ah, no I'm neither gay nor a prostitute. What bothers me most about that accusation is that being gay or a prostitute is a pejorative.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that someone made a hateful statement and I followed along and continued the hate. For that perpetuation I well and truly apologize.

Obamalama with apologies to Otis Reading

I came home after a hot and weary day to see the strangest thing in my house that I have seen for some time. Before I could comment The Bohemian put a finger to his lips and with the other hand poured me a libation. As is normal for men of our position The Bohemian and I usually drink Glen Fiddich, the green bottle and the nectar within does much to calm our souls. But after one taste of the offering that he had presented before me I knew tonight was going to be different. For instead of our usual plebian Glen Fiddich I was drinking a 21 year old single vat black bush. I looked again at The bohemian and again he put a finger to his lips and turned up the volume of the monstrosity in my house.

I'm always unsure as to what I have or have not told you about our existence, but primary to my life is the idea that television is the hand of chaos. I will not abide one nor will I watch one. Yet The Bohemian had installed a 40 inch plasma in my house I would have been beside myself but when a man plies you with 21 year old single vat black bush it's easy to overlook a simple breach of every moral tenant that you hold dear.

I took another sip, barely 3 ounces and looked to The Bohemian. He topped off my tumbler, smiled and turned up the volume. It is at that time I heard "would not be running for President if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation - the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election."

As I silently wept The Bohemian put his arm around me, poured me another and whispered this time it might just be alright.

Heinlein's Touch Twice or... I Grok It!

As we all know The Bohemian was traumatized last month and due to the nature of his injuries I've been very circumspect about approaching him lately. But tonight I came home to find him in great spirits.

As was his want the great spirit was a fine whiskey but then again who am I to criticize. I wandered into my apartment more or less tired and beat down by the world. I was in a strange mood as I was lucky to have talked to an old friend but I was a little morose about the fact that my life was not 100% what I had wanted a scant 20 years ago.

Time fly’s more swiftly than we know. And I still see me as that eager, svelte, dashing, handsome, intelligent...well I guess you get the picture, of my conceptions of myself as a youth. Whether my memories are true or fraud the fact remains my memory of them sculpts who I am now.

Much of me is undefined. But I'm lucky I met The Bohemian. When I get maudlin in my cups or just plain stupid he winks in my eye and sometimes with a cuff to the head tells me I'm being a dumb fook.

So tonight I came wandering in and really wanted a soul to talk to...as I spied The Bohemian in a jovial mood I thought my wishes were answered. Unfortunately no sooner did I walk in the room but he looked at me and laughed. It was not the kindly laugh of a friend bespeaking one to join in but the laugh of ridicule. It felt cruel and lacking in good feeling.

I grabbed the almost full glass in front of him and downed it in a single swallow. He looked me in the eye and poured another, I knocked his hand away and again quaffed his drink. Normally I would sooner fish for pike with the end of my john Thomas than drink The Bohemian's drink but his sneering laughter drove me to well...drink.

He made a long arm and grabbed a second glass out of thin air and looking me dead in the eye rasped " What the fook ails ye." As all of you know the fake brogue of The Bohemian usually causes me to want to do bodily harm. But tonight I was in a strange between place.

I love The Bohemian as a brother, that is I love him like a person would love a brother if all of their brothers weren't so unlovable. He's the ying to my yang he's the balance that let's me laugh at myself. Unfortunately he's a cast iron son of a bitch. He pushes and shoves and then let's himself be bullied until he always get's his way. Ordinarally I'm no match for him and tonight I wasn’t trying.

He juggled the two glasses and the green bottle of nectar successfully until he had filled both glasses and set the bottle down with a flourish. I tried not to be impressed but he juggled so fast and successfully that the whiskey, glasses and bottle all landed at the same time.

The Bohemian looked me in the eye and said. "Touch-twice life. Eat. Drink. Laugh." For those who don't know it's a direct quote from Heinlein's "Glory Road". I looked at The Bohemian strangely and quickly downed my drink. He again juggled the glasses and bottle and when he finished I in bleary eyed consternation looked up and he with a lilting laugh and a wink said "does ya nae 'grok it'?"

Thinking of Valentine Michael Smith I realized I had done my friend a disservice. He chooses to be who he is and I chose to be how I interpret it. It sure would be nice to change the past. And I'd also like to be a better person. Now after imbibing with The Bohemian it sounds trite to say it but "today is the first day of the rest of my life." I grok it!

WTF OVER?

It's a sad night. I will have to write without the benefit of The Bohemian's sage advice. He is currently passed out in the corner. Shocking! That's right, I said passed out while myself is/am/are in a regrettable although temporary sober state. As I said in a previous post I have a new apartment. Although small it's a brand new cozy loft apartment in a good location, at a good price, walking distance from work. I thought my lil apartment was perfect in everyway.

I came home tonight a little late. It being a Friday and all I picked up some ciggies and a bottle to lubricate the beginning of the weekend. My apartment is a second floor walk up with a security door on the first floor in the parking area. The building is a cute little 4 floor jobbie with an auto port on the first floor and each floor there after is a two room studio type apartment.

By American standards my apartment is small. It's about the size of a large hotel room at a 3 or 4 star hotel. Here in Seoul my apartment although small is extremely economical. A typical 3 bedroom apartment for a foreigner here in Seoul, close to my work runs about $3000 to $5000 US dollars a month. Please note I said foreigner, the average Korean doesn't have to pay that kind of money as they have other housing rental options. Regardless, my 'little house by the side of the road' costs me about 10% of my net salary a year. I also had to make a deposit of about 5% of my net salary. As my company gives me housing in excess of this amount I make out well as long as The Bohemian and I don't quarrel and have to leave the room.

This having been said let's go back to me trudging up the hill to my humble abode. I had just turned the corner when I noticed something amiss, the ground floor security door was open. I wasn't concerned as my upstairs neighbor is a nice enough fellow (for a Newfoundlander) as long as I speak slowly and don't ask too many questions about his girlfriend who bears a striking resemblance to...well...err...um...him, we get along ok. I just kind of shrugged, closed the door behind me and labored my way up to the second floor in the humid heat that is Korea in the summer. As I hit the landing I was shocked to see my apartment door open.

I sprinted (lumbered as only a fat man can) to my doorway. Standing in the middle of my refuse strewn apartment was a Korean woman. As I was emotionally excited I had barely a moment to notice that she was between the age of 45 and 50 with a nice rack, expensive hair, her nails done to perfection and she had only had a small amount of plastic surgery around her eyes and perhaps a lift and tuck on her cheeks and neckline. Just as I was going to ask her what her business was in my apartment I spied The Bohemian gibbering in the corner.

I was shocked as I have never seen The Bohemian in such a state. He kept mumbling again and again 'I tried I tried!' Without pause I went from a man anticipating a relaxing weekend to a creature that knows no earthly description. The Bohemian is my touchstone he is the one that keeps me sane. Only The Bohemian broaches my Sanctum Sanctorum with impunity. In all the years we have been together The Bohemian and I have always respected each others space. A pat on the back or a shoulder to lean on when it gets a little drunk out is perfectly fine. But I can count on the fingers of my third hand the number of times we have been within a meter of each other when talking and mostly sober.

To have this...this...person invade my space and see The Bohemian in such a state was beyond what mortal man could bear. My temperature went from an overheated sweaty fat man to something between the molten mantle of the earth to the hottest layer of the sun, in all of 2 seconds. I whispered at 130 decibels ""what do you think you are doing?" The Woman continued to talk on the phone as if I was as hard to discern as The Bohemian. I paused to collect myself and stated reasonably at 140 decibels "what the fuck are you doing in my house?" She continued to talk into her phone and told the person she was talking to that she would have to go as her foreigner friend had need of her assistance.

She turned to me and said in Korean "I'm sorry we couldn't figure out which utility bill belonged to which apartment so I came here to check." I replied with a suave "who the fuck are you and get the fuck out of my house!"(again at a reasonable 140 decibels). Again she said "I'm sorry but I had to check the utilities."

The (censored censored censored meter is outside you censored censored censored) well you get the idea. She the said in Korea "I'm sorry I don't speak English." To which I said in Korean "Get the censored censored censored and take your sorry censored censored censored" again you get the picture. We moved to the landing outside my apartment and I calmed enough to ask her what the fook she thought she was doing. After the ubiquitous 100 apologies she replied that the girlfriend of the man upstairs had brought the utility bills to the real estate agents office to have him sort out which bill belonged to whom as they did not have an apartment number on them. I took a breath and explained that it was not the incestuous git of a branchless family tree that pointed out this problem but was myself.

She then said "well my friend I'm the owner of this building what would you have me do?" Well says I perhaps picking up the poxy censored censored phone and giving me a censored censored phone call and asking me to come to my censored censored apartment might have been the way to handle it. She then bid me adieu and trundled off down the stairs.

I have to be honest with you. The confrontation was not as benign as I have presented it. If she had been a man one of us would have been skating head first down the stairs. Not in 10 years have I been as angry as I was tonight. I have only the roof over my head. My place of rest is just that...my place of rest. It's the place I have where the problems of the world can not enter lest I give them leave. Much like Stokers Dracula the harm and the hurt can not enter unless bid by someone from within.

Thinking on this I realized that The Bohemian was still in a bad way. I leaped into my apartment grabbed my bag, spun off the cap and hurled the bottle in the direction of The Bohemian. He snagged it out of the air and in one long and uninterrupted drought drained the bottle and passed into a troubled sleep.

Shortly there after the real estate agent showed up. He spewed the 100 ubiquitous apologies and I responded with the 100 ubiquitous curses. We agreed that he could live through the night and that perhaps I was a touch unsettled and that rather than throwing him down the stairs and beating him within an inch of his life maybe we could meet on Monday and discuss whether I was going to get his agency put off limits, beat him to death with my rental agreement or merely take a pound of flesh closest his heart.