Thus spoke the Vomit Man of Gok-Pan

This has been a disgusting month. First there are bits of yellow corn on my pizza and in my spaghetti sauce and then there is: Vomit Man! Before launching his projectile vomit your way, here is some of my own, in diatribe Palmer in Korea, fashion. BTW, happy past Fourth of July to ya Yanks out there! May America live long and prosper (Star Trek reference) while it continues to launch its missives onto peaceful or hostile countries whenever they interfere with our George Bushian "way of life."

Gok-pan (pronounced Goak) is in Suwon, South Korea. That's where I live. Please don't envy me. I know you do. I hear it in your voices over the phone. You say things like, "when are you coming back to L.A.?" Look, I have a pretty good lifestyle here. I bike to work. I live twenty minutes away. I don't pay rent. I work less than 40 hours a week. I actually am saving money. Of course I teach bratty kids but you knew that. I know you envy me for quitting a great job, selling my car, storing my junk and ejecting myself from the first world of America into a very polluted, noisy, confusing society of Korea that builds first and asks questions later. Well, sorry to disappoint you, Go-Pan fans, it is a dirty, noisy and disgusting place. Not all places are like Gok-Pan mind you. I miss my Yanne. In any case, I am venting: I can't sleep very well in the summer.

People are yelling at 2am on the street. I close my windows and I can still hear them. They scream and scream. Why are they screaming? Because they are drunken bastards who show no respect for the sober ones sleeping! Ay!! People come home drunk to my building, there shoes clicking loudly on the marble floor, cell phone ringers, loud and obnoxious. In my apartment I can do the white glove dust test and find a new, fresh layer of Gok-Pan dust every day on my furniture. Its the heavy industrial type too. Nice, black, fresh!

There are a few empty lots in Gok-pan where people spontaneously throw their refuse and furniture. (See the side bar for the picture of the scarecrow, located in one of those lots) Wild, feral cats walk the street. Some in heat, others looking for food. They tear open those yellow compost bags (see picture on side bar) and eat the food. My building's elevator chimes every three to four minutes; one for arriving and two for the ground floor. People are always slamming their doors. People are yelling at each other in the building. Couples fighting. Couples fucking.

Outside the building the good people of Gok-pan have gathered in front to loiter. Kids play soccer or race each other at night in front of my building. "Go somewhere else!," I yell. They just look at me. The cheap wooden gate that is in front of the ground floor restaurant has been knocked down and ripped away! Even the cafe/bar is closed down, vacated. On the street you hear people yelling and they are only asking for driving directions! If you want a good night's rest, don't live here. Gok-Pan is like that river area of State Line, the California-Nevada area, where all the college and older dudes go party each summer to get drunk on boats and throw their bikini tops off. And then there's the vomit. The main point of this blog entry.

In Gok-Pan vomit paddies line the street like twister-dots of different colors. Each weekend drunken Korean men drink heavily, vomit, stagger home or pass out in taxis. Their heads like chickens, swinging from side to side. Korean vomit is a colorful mix of food and that awful soju drink they like because its cheap and of course, their beer. Korea has these beer brands: Cass, Hite, Cafri and OB Lager-- all are terrible. They're cheap and would not survive a global market if better beer was allowed in without the heavy import tariffs. I could not imagine walking into a Western bar and asking the bartender without a smile, "A Hite draft, please."

One night of last I am riding my bicycle towards the Galbi restaurant a lot of the teachers like in my neighborhood. Suwon is the Galbi capital of Korea but the Galbi (barbecue pork) restaurants in Gok-Pan that serve the delicious delicacy, are not very good. I'm not sure if they really like the food or if it's just convenient for them. It doesn't matter.

Anyway, an older guy in his 50s or 60s, wearing a dark suit, has just left that restaurant, staggering. I follow his zig-zag path from behind him, left to right, then right to left. He is searching for his car keys or cell phone. I think to myself, "god, no! I don't want this fucker driving home. He could hurt someone." Then I realize he is just walking home. As I am passing him on my bike, I turn and look over my left shoulder. His eyes are red and glazed over and there's a steady vomit stream coming out of his mouth. It's yellow and viscous. He is walking and vomiting at the same time. He swallows it, it comes out again. It's on his jacket. It's beer colored. At a nearby table at another restaurant, others are watching him in silence. He is staggering and I am laughing in disgust and amazement of his drunken prowess. Thus spoke the Vomit Man of Gok-pan. I love Korea. I ride away as he turns the corner towards home.