Mike's away

Mike and I got to the airport early; the check-in counter for American Airlines was over at Section K, but the electronic marquees weren't showing American's logo just yet. The staffers for other airlines were there, doing their thing, so Mike and I had little to do but wait. I tried unsuccessfully to take a poop (yesterday's food has been sitting in my guts all day, and it still hasn't come out), and despite the airport's restroom having a comfortable-seeming smart toilet, nothing came out—and that's after two unsuccessful attempts at evacuation this morning. Wind, but no torpedo. Maybe I'll explode sometime tonight.

There was a lot of hugging, but no tears. It's been a while since I'd seen Mike, and it was good to see him again, but maybe we're too old for tears now. He gave me some surprising news from back home—a friend who'd had steady work, suddenly changing jobs twice; another friend, whose marriage I had thought was rock solid, getting divorced after so many years—stuff like that. Mike's own marriage is doing just fine; his wife is a perfect match for him, and Mike's own character is built on a bedrock of self-confidence and contentment. His last kid is in college, and his two older daughters are living together, both doing science-related work, so Mike and his wife will soon be Empty Nesters. I wonder how that will be.

Soon enough, while we sat and waited, the American Airlines logo appeared at Section K, and Mike went over to check his bags while I guarded his carry-ons. There was one final hug before he had to go through the security line, but we kept up a Skype exchange while he went through security, then waited at his gate, and I went out the Arrivals section to catch a limousine bus back into town. I tried to run (well, lumber-limp, more like) to the bus stop after I'd gotten my ticket, which was ostensibly for a bus leaving in three minutes. But I was down around Zone 11, and I needed to be all the way around the curve at Zone 4 for the 6009 bus to Daechi. So I missed the bus for which I'd gotten a ticket... but since the ticket itself didn't list any particular time, I was able to use it for the next bus. The bus driver for the bus that finally came was like some kind of drill sergeant, loudly asking each of us what our final destinations were. I clearly and avidly said Daechi, feeling the military vibe.

Traffic was horrible; it took longer than two hours to get to Seoul from Incheon. I kept texting with Mike during the bus ride until he finally said he was ready to take off. Got off at Daechi Station and walked to Mido Shopping Center. At the clothing-repair shop, I picked up a shirt I had dropped off earlier in the week. It's run by what I think is a husband-and-wife crew; the husband told me that this repair was free (Heart Attack Special! I should flirt with death more often). The wife, meanwhile, tried to be nice, but she was "nice" in that awkward Korean way that's kind of offensive.

"Did you lose weight?"

"Yes; I'd been in the hospital."

"Because you're handsome all of a sudden!"

Gee. Thanks.

I wonder what my Korean-cousin-who-lives-in-Germany would now think of such an exchange. He'd be sensitive to how Westerners react to Korean rudeness; I'm sure he'd smile sheepishly to hide the fact that he'd be mortified by the casual insensitivity. Yet at the same time, it could well be that we Westerners have overly thin skins and are too prone to reacting in oversensitive ways to breaches of etiquette. Which culture, in the end, is more touchy and testy? Hard to say. I think we in the West have taken fat acceptance way too far, what with the new, PC Sports Illustrated featuring fat cows in its swimsuit issues, so maybe we need some un-PC Koreans to loudly tell us the emperor has no clothes. At the same time, it might be nice for Koreans to understand and appreciate that talking like an asshole, especially to Westerners, can get you punched in the fucking mouth.

Anyway, I subwayed back to my apartment, bought myself some drinks, and am now quietly relaxing, but I may go out again for a walk tonight. We'll see. I might also just rest: we introverts have to recharge after personal interactions. 

But there's some urgency: I have a doctor's appointment right after Chuseok on Friday the 20th; yesterday was a fairly keto day, in terms of what I ate, but I still ate a lot, and the sheer amount of food affected my weight and blood sugar. Long walks are in the cards for me over the next several days, and Chuseok is a good opportunity for me to try walking some much-longer distances. I think I'm close to solving the problem of the Horizontal (i.e., walking long distances on flat ground); I now have to work hard on the Vertical (i.e., staircase work in preparation for hills). I've got about a month to tackle both of these problems, and there are no more visits from friends or brothers planned—just a visit to the States next year.

I'll take care of these things as I can. Meanwhile, Mike flies home with updated memories of Korea. He's now familiar with farecards, taxis, subways, buses, Airbnbs, museums, aquariums, Lotte World Mall, Buddhist temples, palaces, Season 2 of "House of the Dragon," and food. He's got the memory of awesome gyro-shawarma-thingies and salty filet mignons, and he even did a bit of cooking to help me out with that final meal. He's got Charles's recipe for flatbread; I hope Mike sends me photos of whatever he makes for himself and his family. Lord only knows the variety of things you can wrap up in a flatbread. In all, it was a full week for him and for me. I wish him the best as he returns to normal life.

I'm getting better at sleeping normally. There's still plenty of chest pain if I push myself too hard in the wrong directions, but I can't express how happy I am that the blockage in my chest is, at least ostensibly, now gone. (Lack of angina and lack of breathlessness would seem to support the idea that the blockage is, for now, no longer there.) I'll do what I can to keep it gone, but I'm increasingly convinced that genetics plays an insidious role in my fate, and there's not much to be done about that. Some of us, like my buddy Dominique's entire family, are destined to live long lives. Some of us, like yours truly, are not. Then again, my dad is the same age as Joe Biden, and as far as I know, he's still around.

Anyway. Onward and upward. Excelsior!