I think the reason why I dreamt about taking a peek into Cartic’s apartment with binoculars is because I had a partial viewing of Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rear Window” a previous night. Partial, meaning that I started the movie while eating dinner with Yvonnes, but then her friend Charlotte came to visit so we stopped the movie.

Yvonnes (a extended nick name I gave her, pronounced yuh-von-NES) just flew to China on American Airlines. I would guess she would be coming back to America on China Airlines.

It struck me that the Beijing International Airport was quietly empty. It struck me that the Korean International Airport was quietly empty, but then again, I was not there during the World Cup.

European Traveler to Korea speaking in his or her native tongue: Oh look. He must be Korean. “Anyounghasehyo!”
Alfred: Um, hello.

Looking from behind and over a blue couch facing the window, There was no one in Cartic’s apartment, but sitting in front of me was a bald man with a gun. In both instances, I did not see Cartic, nor am I familiar with his belongings to know that it was his apartment, but I knew it was his apartment, and I did not see the gun the man was holding, but I knew he was carrying one. Call it dream sixth sense.

One time in India, Rachel (six years old) came up to me and asked me a question.

Rachel: Hey, Alfred. I bet you don’t know what’s on top of our building.
Alfred: I don’t know. Is it a bird?
Rachel: How did you know?

I didn’t know there was a dead bird up on the ceiling where we lived. Call it dumb luck sixth sense.

During nights at the Doctor’s quarters where we stayed in Pune, India, the cows would come out. Peering through the second floor window, I could see three cows roaming about. The next day, we found mounds of cow dung loosely piled in casual places around the hospital.

I took a black telephone from a side table by the blue couch and brought it back with me through the hallway behind me, then into the bathroom. My first instinct was to dial 0 for the dream operator, but the operator asked me to hold on the line while she connected me to someone else. Illogically, I hung up and called 911 next. Reality: When watching “Panic Room” with my kids (I don’t really have kids, but I like to call my church youth group my kids) and Tinna.

Jodie Foster pulls out existing telephone wire and connects it to the dead panic room telephone. Once she acquires a dial tone, she calls 911 when an operator also tell her to hold. She hangs up and calls her ex-husband. I guess I would have called my ex-wife, but since I do not have an ex-wife, I did not call her in my dream.

Following the path of the sun, the sunflower

Following the path of the sun, from the morning east

From the rising morning east to the setting dusk west, the sunflower moves its entirety, following the path of the sun as we should move to follow the light of God.

From the rising east to the setting west, the sunflower moves its entirety to follow the path of the sun as we should move to follow the light of God.

Am I expecting an impossible perfection when it comes to watching the US not deserve their tie versus the 2002 South Korean World Cup Team? My first reaction is to stop watching US “Soccer,” because I find it too frustrating to watch them kick to no one in particular, to lose control of the ball, to simply play at an embarrassingly amateur level. I put soccer in quotes because US “Soccer” is not real Football. They are lucky to have tied the South Koreans. They are lucky to have beaten Portugal. I do expect too much from Team USA and I apologize for my frustrated fervor. I will only reserve it for first, my beloved Philadelphia Seventy-Sixers, Philadelphia Eagles, Philadelphia Flyers, and Philadelphia Phillies.

The night I ate an Original Grand Slam Breakfast from Dennys, I dreamt that I was married to Korrine Clark. Reality: Korrine is married to Aaron Larson, both of whom just had their first baby. In the dream, Aaron passed away, so I in turn and strangely enough married Korrine. Together we lived in an apartment that had an extended hallway leading into a living room that looked onto other apartments through a large movie screen of a window. With a pair of binoculars, I was able to look across into Cartic’s apartment.

I first met Cartic when Huyen drove me back to Rochester at the end of Thanksgiving weekend. Cartic rode up front with Huyen while I shifted in the back seat from right to left to right taking color photos of Western New York’s golden red autumn sun setting sky. Somewhere along the way from Quakertown, Pennsylvania to Rochester, New York, I learned that Cartic is from India.

One of the things I miss about India is their domestic sodas. There is of course Miranda in flavors of artificial orange, lime soda, and mango juice; Thumbs up cola and the occasional club soda.

I fantasize being a guest on Late Night with Conan O’Brian and as I sit down on the sofa to talk to Conan, I reveal two bottles of Duke’s Lemon from a paper bag that I’ve carried onto the set

Conan: Oh, I see you brought us some drinks. -Laughs nervously- What are these? Wine coolers?
Alfred: No, Conan. This is Duke’s Lemon. Try it.
Conan: Duke’s eh? -looks into the camera- Duke’s, the official drink of the Ku Klux Klan. -drinks Duke’s Lemon- Hey, this is not that bad. I feel like putting bed sheets on my horse.

I had a vivid dream the night we went to the carnival because I ate so late at night. It’s a myth I’m going to share with my children: if you eat late at night, you will have nightmares. I was still slightly nauseous (out of my mental lucidity) after coming home from Dennys. I had two pancakes, two sausages, two bacon strips, and two eggs over easy. They called it the Original Grand Slam Breakfast. It would have been nice if they provided toast to complement the eggs.

I got over most of my fears concerning roller coasters by understanding that I would not die by riding them. In the same fashion, I’ve become fond of vivid dreams and nightmares. Vivid dreams and nightmares are just like roller coasters. You are chased by crazy people with machine guns, and you’re hiding from them in cabinets, drawers, on the ceiling, but they will find you, and utilize their machine guns on you, but in the end, you wake up, trying to go back to the vivid dream.

I will be rooting for Team USA when they play South Korea in the World Cup. Why? Wasn’t I born of two Korean parents, thus making me physically Korean? Shouldn’t I then be rooting for South Korea? Well simply, I just know the American team. The South Korean team are strangers to me. They would be football players with different numbers on their backs. How crazy would it be if they all had the same number? I know and admire the defensive skills of US defenseman, Eddie Pope. I can’t say I admire anyone on the South Korean team only because I’ve never seen this World Cup team play. I think that’s fair. When I saw South Korea play Bolivia in the stands of Foxboro Stadium where the New England Patriots play, I was rooting for South Korea. Please, I don’t hate South Korea, nor do I hate Bolivia, I just know the United States much better.

I saw the fear in Andrew’s face when normally one would describe him as an energetic monster. It was his first time to go to a carnival, only eight years old. His fear subdued him into a quieter child. When talking to him, I noticed his eyes looking elsewhere, almost sleepy. He also took the fact that he was not tall enough for many of the rides very well.

Andrew: I saw you on Spin Out.
Alfred: Really?
Andrew: Yup, and your hair went like this:

Andrew stepped on the bench next to us then raised my hair within his hands.

I have the same feeling of dread when someone asks me to go drinking with them at some party as I do when someone asks me to go to the amusement park. I’ve thought it out, and I believe the correlation lies within the fact the both drinking alcohol and amusement park rides takes me out of my mental lucidity. Both make me nauseous, and if the alcohol or ride is particularly bad, I will suffer from headaches. So I could say that I do not like to be outside of my comfort zone. I like to be tucked away, and safe. This is not true either. I’ve done many a crazy stunt in my life, which has lead to my near death on one occasion, and to the hospital on other occasions. I believe a more accurate analysis of my neurosis is that when I’m tussling with the Rochester Police or falling of cliffs, I am extremely lucid. Lucidity seems to be everything to me. I hate to be blocked in the head. I keeps me from writing. It’s as simple as that, thus I could never be a beatnik writer. Give me a choice between a block in my head or constipation and I will easily choose constipation. Give me a choice between alcohol or a amusement park ride and I would answer, “I’m waiting for an alcohol ride to come out so I don’t need to make a choice, or wait. I could drink alcohol while riding an amusement park ride.” Does anyone want to sit next to me?

The combination of funnel cake, onion rings, pop corn, cotton candy, black concrete, rumbling steel, old vinyl, pop music, blinking lights, screaming, laughing, crying, all make up the heavy air of the carnival. It’s cheap, nauseating, and American. Break two plates with a baseball and win Scooby Doo. Flip a plastic frog into the center of the lily pad and win a frog. Toss a ping pong ball into a fish bowl and win a fish.

Why do I love the bumper car? Is it because the bumper car is one of the few rides where the riders interact with each other? In line - waiting for the bumper cars to stop dead - watching electric blue lines spark from the grated metal ceiling to the curled strips of metal held by poles attached to the back of each bumper car - the cars stop - the people get out and walk to the back - to the exit - the attendant lets the next wave of drivers through the gate - we seek our own car - red, blue, green, yellow – jump inside - the large vinyl cushion turns along with the steering wheel back and forth - waiting for the electricity to be switched back on so we can crash into each other for another five minutes.