Twain, you Cookie

plane delayed again
the new yorker and mark twain
privilege of the grave
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While travelling, I picked up the New Yorker and read an essay written by Mark Twain. Published for the first time a few months ago, Privilege of the Grave illustrates how the First Amendment is embodied beyond life. Here's an excerpt:

An unpopular opinion concerning politics or religion lies concealed in the breast of every man; in many cases not only one sample, but several. The more intelligent the man, the larger the freightage of this kind of opinions he carries, and keeps to himself. There is not one individual--including the reader and myself--who is not the possessor of dear and cherished unpopular convictions which common wisdom forbids him to utter. Sometimes we suppress an opinion for reasons that are a credit to us, not a discredit, but oftenest we suppress an unpopular opinion because we cannot afford the bitter cost of putting it forth. None of us likes to be hated, none of us likes to be shunned.

A natural result of these conditions is, that we consciously pay more attention to tuning our opinions to our neighbor's pitch and preserving his approval than we do to examining the opinions searchingly and seeing to it that they are right and sound. This custom naturally produces another result: public opinion being born and reared on this plan, it is not opinion at all, it is merely policy; there is no reflection back of it, no principle, and it is entitled to no respect.

Twain, Mark. "Privilege of the Grave." The New Yorker Dec 2008.

Buried in the Sand

I was talking to my sister today about our childhood. I told her about how I have been increasingly fascinated by our upraising in a Korean home.

I've really wanted to start writing about how distinctly different our "Korean American" lives were from others while we were growing up. She mentioned something that I had forgotten for so long . . .

We had the best sandbox growing up. It filled the length of our backyard. Past the perfectly mowed grass that our dad maintained dutifully. So dutifully that even when Kathy and I begged to mow the lawn - we were denied with great intensity.

I remember the day the sand came.

I never knew that sand came in a big dump truck. I guess I just assumed that it was just where it landed. The enormous truck full of sand backed up across the perfectly manicured grass and dumped its load - so inelegantly. Was this really what our sand box would look like? A mound of left over remains from such an uncouth truck?

Within a few hours the sand was leveled and our sandbox was transformed yet again with an addition of a swing set. Kathy and I were given a golden gift that extended the expanse of our yard. What joy that our parents would so unselfishly give such a great gift.

However, being in an industrious Korean household, there had to be more than one use for the glorious golden sandbox.

Every late fall my dad would be instructed to bring in large buckets from the shed and line them with garbage bags. It was time for kimjang.

A large silver pot, big enough for small children to bathe in, was taken outside. Heads of cabbage - dozens of them - were salted and soaked for the entire day. Mom and Dad washed the cabbage, sometimes enlisting the help of Kathy and I, then marinated in pepper powder, garlic and a host of other seasoning.

While mom packed the cabbage in the buckets, dad dug holes in our golden sand box. Sometimes the ground would already be partially frozen. I don't think Kathy and I knew the full extent of what our parents were doing until the snow melted in the spring.

Spring reawakened our love for our golden sandbox. It was like finding a treasure when we found buckets full of kimchee in our box.

Kathy told me that she always thought this was normal - who doesn't find buckets full of kimchee in their sandbox in the spring?

I wonder if my parents ever forgot about a bucket or two. I hope they did. It would be such a treasure for the kids who reawaken their curiosity in the spring.

ㅋ~ㅋ~

For over ten years now I've been actively pursuing the Korean language. I say pursue because that's exactly what it is. Having been ten years, there are only two things to reasons why I haven't yet mastered it:



1) I'm no good.

2) It's stinkin' hard.



Regardless, I must say that my fondness for the Korean language has grown immensely. Something I've noticed about the Korean language is that each word is packed with meaning. When I hear Koreans speak, they're words are much more than just words - they are feelings.

I always find it interesting and find that I'm often jealous at how poetic and thoughtful Koreans are with what they say. Even insults are funnier in Korean.

I've been following a Korean Star Variety Show (basically a reality show with Korean models, singers and musicians) called We Got Married. In this show, two stars are paired together to fake a marriage for a few months. There's a couple that has been designated the Ant Couple because the "husband," Crown J looks like an ant. In an interview So Inyoung (the "wife") gets so frustrated because she tries to out-do Crown J's romantics - and never seems to be able to be more sweet or romantic than he is. So she says "이 사람은 네 모리 의에있구나" (roughly translated as "this person is always above my head" or this person is always a head above me).

It may just be that I am overly fascinated by the language. But, I'd like to attribute the richness of the language to Korea's long history and culture.

Regardless, I'm signing out with a phrase I just learned that sounds so much more fun in Korean.

"YingGuaEngBo SaPilGuiJung"
"What goes around comes around"

Undone

11 unread books, 3 canvasses with little or no paint and 3 pumps with no heels - is it just that I'm lazy or is it that with time projects, relationships or books just aren't as important to finish?


Why is it that unfinished anythings seem to get easier to leave undone? Is it easier to let the abrasiveness of guilt wear away at your a life of content or is it worth it to just let it go? I would think that after time the thing needing to be done would just disappear, right?