I woke up this morning with a fragment of a dream stuck to the inside of my brain. Utterly realistic dream.
I was sitting at work, at my desk, overhearing my boss talking on the phone with one of a student's parents. I was understanding it – not dream understanding, but actually capturing the words of the conversation. A first grade (elementary) student, Jaehyeon, was leaving the hagwon.
When Curt hung up the phone, with his dramatic sigh as he often does when he has failed to convince a parent who is set on leaving to stay, I said to him, in "Jaehyeon is leaving." Statement, not question.
"네" [ne], he agreed. In English, he added, "But she said he liked your class. So why is he leaving."
In the dream, I felt very sad, that Jaehyeon was leaving. He's by far my favorite first-grader, has a very active imagination and linguistic creativity. He makes random funny noises when he doesn't understand something.
I woke up with this floating in my brain, thinking it was a memory of being at work. But no, I'd remember for sure if Jaehyeon were, in fact, leaving. But then I had another thought: I'd dreamed in Korean. Not completely, but somewhat. What's distinctive is that it was understood dream Korean, that was real Korean. Not the dream-Korean I stuggle with so often, where it's gobbledygook that I can't make any sense out of, and that I doubt is real Korean. And that is a milestone, maybe. Or a rarity, in any event, above and beyond the banality of the dream fragment.
“Buddha. I bow and pray to be humble in everything.”
This is #93 out of a series of 108 daily Buddhist affirmations that I am attempting to translate with my hands tied behind my back (well not really that, but I’m deliberately not seeking out translations on the internet, using only dictionary and grammar).
Can any of my blog readers or facebook friends recommend a dentist? Preferably, someone in Ilsan (or northwest Seoul suburbs, or Jongno area) that I can get to in less than an hour. My last two dentists (one Korean, one in the US before that) were horrible – so I've procrastinated too long. Thanks.
I'm not that worried about how expensive – I'll pay a premium for a competent dentist, and I'd really prefer someone who can make a recommendation based on personal experience.
I had some computer problems over the weekend. Or rather, on Friday… I experienced the notorious blue-screen-of-death on my little Asus EeePC netbook, which runs Windows 7. It's the first time I had one on this machine – I had, in fact, come to believe that Microsoft had done away with the infamous crash-o-matic indicator with the new operating system, because I'd never seen it before. But lo, there it was.
This made me worried. I managed to recover the little netbook, but I felt a dilemma. I rely on having a computer a lot. More than just for going online – in fact, I spend a lot of time on my netbook off line, and I'm pretty OK with having to cope with lack of internet at home, as I learned the hard way during my struggles with internetlessness in Yeonggwang last year (although obviously I ranted about it quite a bit). I do writing on my computer. Not good writing. Not writing-to-be-happy about, but it's a compulsive exercise.
Until last year, I've always had two computers. Well, not always, but at least in the most recent milennium. The idea being, that if I had a crash, I'd go to the backup. Well, last year, my "main" laptop, an old Sony Vaio that I bought the month before coming to Korea in 2007, suffered an ignoble retirement. It has 3 operating systems installed on it – Windows Vista, Ubuntu Linux, and Windows Server 2003. I dropped it, and I guess I scrambled the Vista boot sector somehow. I can still boot it up, even now, but using Linux is virtually useless for surfing the Korean internet (although that's changing rapidly, with the unexpected – to me – success of the iPhone and iPad and the various Android-running clones of those products, because Android is, after all, just Linux). The linux boot has got some other minor issues, too, involving the Korean-language input thingy, which I've been too lazy to resolve. The Server 2003 boot still works (and I use it when I'm searching for some old file I've misplaced, sometimes), but it never played well with the graphics card in the laptop, with the consequence being that it is only capable of presenting a bare-bones 800×600 half-size window on the already non-huge laptop screen. The upshot of all this, I consider the old "main" laptop to be dead.
So my backup computer, since my hiatus in the US in the fall of 2009, has been this $295 Asus netbook that I bought at Best Buy with a gift certificate. It became my new main computer. It's very low-grade, but perfectly adequate for my writing and for doing things on the internet, if rather pokey running multiple applications, etc. I had to abandon my computer games habit, but that's hardly been detrimental, in most respects.
Anyway, getting the blue screen of death, last Friday, set me to thinking… if this netbook fails, I'll be in a world of hurt. I'll be able to boot up "old main" if I'm desperate to write something, but it's hardly convenient, and I can forget comfortably surfing the internet. And besides, I've been missing having a computer that can have more than 2 windows open at the same time without slowing to a crawl.
So Saturday morning, I tromped off to Costco and spent 800 bucks. I bought a desktop. Which seems ridiculous, but I've considered that one of the main things I do recreationally with my computer, these days, is watch movies or TV serious, and my netbooks 7 inch screen is pretty pathetic, that way. Those 24 inch flat screen monitors looked tempting. So basically I bought a fancy screen with a cheapo Jooyontech (a Korean discount brand) desktop PC attached to it.
I decided to make my life difficult for myself. Not on purpose, exactly: I somehow managed to click just the wrong set of initial choices on the "first boot up" of the Windows 7 Home Premium K (for Korea) operating system, such that the operating system knows I prefer English, but nevertheless refuses to use it with me about 80% of the time. As if that even makes sense. Haha. Let's just say the remainder of the configuration process involved a lot of recourse to the dictionary. And I'm the proud owner of a semi-bilingual computer.
I decided that, well, wow, I had a desktop with an actual graphics chip set and a big screen, I should put a fun game on it. I have always had an inordinate and unhealthy love for the game called Civilization, in its various incarnations. I went to buy it and try to download it – only to be disallowed from buying by the download store thing (called Steam). I felt annoyed. I hate it when online vendors discriminate against me because of my IP address. They're telling me they don't want my money. Well, my reaction to being told by a product vendor that they don't want my money is to not give them my money. It took me about 20 minutes to torrent and install Civilization 4 (not the latest version, but what do I care? I like the old version just fine) on the new machine. No money required. The internet's like that, right? Probably, it's a bit stupid of me to tell everyone this on a blog, but I feel pretty safe from the copyright police, because of the aforementioned discriminated-against IP address. Korean copyright police only care about Korean content.
Well, I played Civilization for part of Sunday, and then, in a long-unfelt rush of self-disgust at wasting such a vast amount of time on a virtual empire, I went on a walk. Such was my weekend. The picture below shows the new computer. It represents a certain degree of investment in my intention to stay in Korea, doesn't it? I suppose if I end up leaving, I'll sell it or give it away to a lucky friend.
What I'm listening to right now.
David Bowie, "Changes." The video someone made for it in the youtube, above, is clever, too. It's an appropriate way to ring in the new computer, though Bowie always makes me think of freshman year at Macalaster College in St Paul. Life has changes.
A blogger named Christopher Carr (at a site called League of Ordinary Gentlemen – a blog name that I somewhat dislike, by the way, because citing it makes me feel like I'm on a street corner handing out ads for a strip club) is refuting some ideas he ran across on another blog by someone named Dr Helen. The level of writing and the way he manages the ideas is spectacular.
He uses the term "scrooge mcduckery" to describe the sort of wannabe-John-Galtism that seems to underlie some portion of the teapartiers. Here's a great extended quote from the specific blog entry:
Going through the comments over there at Dr. Helen’s and measuring the levels of entitlement, uncompromising self-righteousness, baseless notions of victimhood, and B-team Scrooge McDuckery might be an appropriate exercise for Introduction to Physics students. As if the baby boomers haven’t already been doing this in spirit for years, advocates of going Galt suggest the appropriate response to the democratic government not doing exactly what you-the-one-citizen-among-many like is to sit back and be pampered, as if the baby boomers haven’t already been doing this in spirit for years.
Actually it's all a sort of prologue to a paean to Victor Hugo and Les Miserables, and, having never been much of a fan of Hugo, myself, I stopped reading it. But the introductory part really captures quite well a lot of what's caused me, in recent years, to turn rather leftward from my earlier infatuation with Ayn Randian ideations.
Even five years ago I still happily described myself as having strong libertarian tendencies, but I've become so uncomfortable with these tendencies in recent times that I cannot in good conscience use the word libertarian any more – at least about myself, anyway. Perhaps these years in communitarian Korea, where even the hard-right conservatives still believe in things like universal healthcare and massive government-funded infrastructure projects, has colored my worldview.
I'm not really going anywhere with this, but I so loved Carr's use of the term "scrooge mcduckery" (and by the way, I loved Scrooge McDuck comics when I a kid – why?). So I had to post this comment.
“Buddha. I bow and pray not to resent other people.”
This is #92 out of a series of 108 daily Buddhist affirmations that I am attempting to translate with my hands tied behind my back (well not really that, but I’m deliberately not seeking out translations on the internet, using only dictionary and grammar).
I would read this ninety-second affirmation as: “Buddha. I bow and pray not to resent other people.”
Resent. Is this like jealousy? The dictionary also offers the word “blame” as a translation of 원망하다. It also lists “hold a grudge” and “feel bitter toward.” I see resentment and blame as being very different things. But I can see how they’re linked. I would say resentment and blame, together, are the number one “sins” of the expat community in Korea – foreigners like to sit in Korea and resent how things are different, or blame strange Korean culture for all the various misunderstandings and frustrations they have. It’s so very easy to slip into that mode. It’s why I stay away from online groupings of foreigners at all costs, generally.
Actually, I don’t feel like this is one of my bugaboos. Maybe my big problem isn’t with resentment but rather with metaresentment. By which I mean the fact of resenting others’ resentments. Haha.
I took the picture at left two years ago during my visit to Ulleungdo (an isolated island off Korea’s east coast by a few hours by ferry). Ulleungdo is by far my favorite rural place in Korea that I’ve visited. I’m mostly a city person, but I seem to like my rural places “extreme” or remote, in some sense: Patagonia, Southeast Alaska, Upper Michigan, Ulleungdo.
reams are so strange. They can be so vivid and memorable and yet make no sense, or seem utterly insignificant, devoid of deeper meaning.
I awoke from a dream in which I went back to Paradise Corp (an anonymization) to plead for my old job back. The building was still in Burbank, but when I got to the IT department, it was a transformed space. It resembled the trendy, loft-like interiors of some of those web 2.0 tech firms that make their work areas vaguly resemble a Starbucks or a Chuck E Cheese. I once interviewed at a place like that in Santa Monica (and now, years later, I can’t for the life of me remember if I was offered the job or not – but I remember the interview pretty vividly, because they asked me to solve a weird, complex, recursive SQL programming problem on the fly, and I felt kind of stumped by it, but showed them how I would find the answer; and the man leading the interview looked exactly like Mark Zuckerberg). There had been sofas and bean-bag chairs and long tables with giant flat screen monitors and little meeting tables like in a kindergarten.
The other thing about the IT department in this dream was that it had shrunk. It essentially only occupied the one large, well-decorated room. I asked the rather generic man showing me around what had happened: “Where did everyone go?”
“Oh, it’s all outsourced, now,” he responded in a singsongy voice. “Mostly to Bangalore and Hyderabad.”
This made some weird sense, and reflected trends that had been developing when I was still at the company, but I was undiplomatic: I responded, “Are you sure it isn’t just that the company has shrunk?”
This earned me a very realistic glare from my former boss, Tom, who was there but refusing to interact with me. He stalked off in search of an elevator.
All the remembered denizens of the IT department were sitting at these long tables, working. Some didn’t even have computers, though – they had paper notebooks open and pencils. Looking more closely, a lot of them were studying phonics flashcards with words like “cat” and “cake” on them (symbolically in line with my current job, teaching elementary students English). Some of them had cups of chicken nuggets with hotsauce, from the Aroha cup-chicken fast-food place downstairs (here in Ilsan, I mean).
One of my former coworkers wanted to make small talk, but I was trying to get at what they wanted me to do now that I’d returned. “What kind of database are you trying to design, now?” I asked.
There was nothing to do – it’d all been outsourced. I asked the man with the singsongy voice what this “rump” of an IT department was actually doing. “We’re mostly keeping them because we feel sorry for them,” he explained. He made an expansive gesture around at the tables. Several of the erstwhile programmers were squabbling and skuffling over a comic book (again, I now teach elementary students, right?).
I looked around at my former coworkers, and saw the signs – the lack of computers, the fact they were doing crossword puzzles or sudoku or studying phonics flashcards. This was no IT department – it was a sort of retirement facility. And I had asked for this “job” back?
I said, “Maybe I should just go back to Korea.” My former coworkers looked sad, but they all seemed to understand. Karen nodded, sagely.
I walked back out of the old building in Burbank to find myself in a Seoul subway station. I was confused, though, and couldn’t figure out how to get to the orange #3 line, that I could use to get home. I studied a map on a wall for what seemed a very long time. Maybe an entire day. After that, I wandered through the subway until I found a bowl of samgyetang (a sort of whole-chicken stew) sitting on a ledge in one of the tunnels. My backpack sat beside it, which seemed unremarkable, but which I suddenly realized I’d been missing. I looked at the samgyetang, but found it unappetizing.
In general, I'm contentedly expatriated. But in some moments, I'm proud that my residual US address is the city of Minneapolis. e.g. My congressman from Minneapolis, Keith Ellison, on the issue of Palestinian statehood, quoted Dr Martin Luther King, Jr.: "The time is always right to do what is right." He wrote an editorial in the New York Times.
I know there are serious issues between the Palestinians and Israel, and that the problems cut deeply both ways. But denying a people a sovereign state (or, alternately, denying them full rights as citizens) can never be the "right thing to do."
Personally, I find the so called "one state solution" (latterly espoused by Qaddafi, of all disrepeutable people) to be the most ethically appealing, but I recognize that this is the least likely from the facts on the ground. Then again, who would have predicted in the 1980s that apartheid would have been utterly abrogated less than a decade later, in South Africa? Things change fast once change takes root.
I've been watching some episodes of the "crime-procedural" TV series Bones. Some of the episodes are pretty well written, atlhough it's inconsistent. But there was a great line. The main eponymous character, nicknamed "Bones," writes novels as a sideline to her work in forensic anthropology. In a season one episode, she gets caught working on a novel by a coworker, Hodgins. Dialogue:
Hodgins: "I recognize that look." Bones: "What?" Hodgins: "You're writing another book! When you write, you get this stunned look on your face, like you stuck a fork in a toaster. Am I in this one too?" Bones: "You weren't in the last one."
I had to pause the video and laugh at this. I love how this captures what happens to people who try to write. That it's not, in fact, a particularly pleasant experience, but that, like sticking a fork in a toaster, it's an unthought-out, impulsive exercise with unexpected consequences.
“Buddha. I bow and pray not to disdain other people.”
This is #91 out of a series of 108 daily Buddhist affirmations that I am attempting to translate with my hands tied behind my back (well not really that, but I’m deliberately not seeking out translations on the internet, using only dictionary and grammar).
I would read this ninety-first affirmation as: “Buddha. I bow and pray not to disdain other people.”
The one-word substitutions from one affirmation to the next are the easiest to translate. Even if I don’t know the word, with the syntactical matrix being exactly the same all it takes is a simple dictionary look-up. 무시하다 can also mean “ignore,” and I nearly preferred that word over disdain. Mostly because it would make it a very “relatable” affirmation – I am, in fact, sometimes quite guilty of ignoring other people. I have such strong anti-social tendencies, maybe… or else, in a more positive way, it could be said that I value and need my solitude, daily. It’s so difficult when people “reach out” to me and I’m just not “in the mood” to be social. It seems more polite to ignore them than to respond with a “leave me alone” (clearly), but I nevertheless feel guilty about it.
I wonder how this could connect to those Buddhist monks who go off and live solitary, isolated lives. Are they still called upon to not ignore others? I suppose they’re making it difficult for others to reach out to them … isn’t that a kind of ignoring?
Yesterday was a long day at work. It's the time of month when we have to post grades and comments about students into the giant, macro-infested spreadsheet that serves as the hagwon student database system. Actually, the spreadsheet's not bad for an ad hoc job – I've sometimes admired its low-budget ingenuity. Anyway, at least I felt competent to do this job: it's a good feeling of accomplishment when you can write personalized comments about 80 students and remember each of their faces and personalities.
Earlier in the day, I'd come in earlier than usual because I have my current "frontloaded" schedule that is all-elementary. I'm putting a lot of work on my "little ones" – mostly first-graders that have felt kind of challenging lately, walking the fine line between being entertaining for the students and parental expectations that they will come home acting as if they were learning something. Putting together a scheme for phonics flashcards (spelling simple words like cat and cake), I want to implement some kind of regular mini-quiz that's not too painful for the students but that give me a sense of whether or not they're making any progress.
I came home and faced the leftovers in my fridge. I like to cook, as I've said, but cooking alone always leads to leftovers, and having such a small fridge (it's essentially what would be called a "dorm room" fridge in the US) means I have to get brutal and triage my leftovers pretty regularly – I end up throwing away things that don't get eaten far too often, and that induces feelings of guilt, which leads to me cooking less, which leads to me feeling annoyed with my diet.
Um. What was I saying? I found some beans in my fridge and finished them off, after heating them up for an extra-extended period because I was worrying they might have something growing in them. They tasted good. And I woke up this morning.
Over the weekend I had made a tasty curry-coleslaw (see picture), using some end-of-its-natural-life cabbage and the infinite supply of gift-apples-in-a-box that I received as a Chuseok gift from my employer (see other picture – note standard-issue excessive packaging).
That coleslaw is keeping well, so far. But I had to throw out some rice and broccoli and mushrooms into the compost bin downstairs. Isn't it cool, by the way, that big-city apartments in Ilsan give residents the opportunity to segregate their organic garbage? Not that I have huge amount of faith that anything useful is being done with it… it might be being mixed in with the regular garbage at the landfill, as happens so often in the US, for example. But one might be pleasantly surprised – Koreans seem predisposed, in some ways (e.g. by the density of their society, and its historically recent extreme poverty), to creating a more sustainable version of consumerism.
I like the word 흐림 [heurim], because of its sound. And the fact that it’s a kind of gerund, derived from the verb 흐리다 [heurida = “to be cloudy, to be overcast”]. So the word might literally translate as “clouding” or “overcasting,” although more natural English would be “cloudiness” maybe.
I awoke kind of early, this morning. I haven’t been feeling well, lately, but the air outside my open windows was cool and truly fall-like, perhaps for the first time of the season. It was maybe 15 degrees (60 F), and the sky was grey. I felt really invigorated, to wake up and have it not feel warm and sticky humid. So I looked at the weather forcast, and it said 흐림.
Stephen Colbert, in an episode this past week, was referencing the recent "scandal" (not sure it really was one – there was at least some missing context) involving the Republican candidate's debate during which people seemed to be cheering when Ron Paul suggested that a sick, uninsured person just be left to die rather than be admitted to an emergency room. So, a few moments later, he was discussing poll numbers, and in place of the regular margin-of-error qualifier, he said, "plus or minus let-sick-people-die." This was extremely funny.
I'm having a lazy weekend. I guess that's usual. So… more later. I'm reading a good book.
“Buddha. I bow and pray not to slander other people.”
This is #90 out of a series of 108 daily Buddhist affirmations that I am attempting to translate with my hands tied behind my back (well not really that, but I’m deliberately not seeking out translations on the internet, using only dictionary and grammar).
Who could have imagined I'd spend part of my 46th birthday singing along to a Justin Bieber video with a bunch of Korean sixth-graders? And that that would be, by far, the funnest part?
Ah, but such is life. My coworkers got a cake, which was chocolate, and quite good – although they also ate most of it, too – which was actually good, too, as it would have been unhealthy for me to eat too much of it.
And then there was one of those most excellent of Korean traditions, the envelope of cash – but note that the envelope, in this case, had a hand-made label saying "Happy Birthday JW" in ransom-note style (see picture). I like that kind of attention to detail.
The Thursday "CC" classes that I have are kind of like noraebang (karaoke room) training – which makes sense: all Korean kids need karaoke training, as one's ability to do well in noraebang are integral to success later in life.
I tried starting with a music video of a song I like, myself – OneRepublic's "Good Life."
It's a pretty good song, and I like it partly because it was popular on the radio during the week I was driving around New Zealand back in February. So hearing it, and trying to sing along, reminds me of beautiful scenery and road tripping – how can that be bad, right?
But the kids said the song was difficult, and in thinking about it, I'd have to agree. The rhythms are tough, and the sentences in it are long. So then, at their request, we did Bruno Mars' "Just the way you are."
This is an easy song, and I actually had the lyrics down pretty well, myself, by the time we finished practicing it. I got into it, even. It grew on me. The kids seemed to like it pretty well, too.
But in the end, I had to submit to their unceasing demands that we do Justin Bieber. "Jeo-seu-tin Bi-beo!" I can't say I love Justin Bieber, but I'm happy to make the kids happy, and this, somehow, in some mysterious way, makes 6th graders extremely happy. Such is the impact of a Canadian teen idol and global pop sensation, even on Korean culture. We did his song "Love Me."
It's not a bad song, if not terribly original – I like the chorus's riff on the 1996 Cardigans' "Lovefool," for example.
But really, it was just a regular work day, right? Although I managed to get out of there a little early – not that I did anything resembling celebrating. I came home, did a load of laundry, and read a chapter of a book about Buddhism.
I got a lot of Happy Birthdays on facebook. Thanks everyone!
(Reference to The Women at Point Sur) I stand near Soberanes Creek, on the knoll over the sea, west of the road. I remember This is the very place where Arthur Barclay, a priest in revolt, proposed three questions to himself: First, is there a God and of what nature? Second, whether there's anything after we die but worm's meat? Third, how should men live? Large time-worn questions no doubt; yet he touched his answers, they are not unattainable; But presently lost them again in the glimmer of insanity.
How many minds have worn these questions; old coins Rubbed faceless, dateless. The most have despaired and accepted doctrine; the greatest have achieved answers, but always With aching strands of insanity in them. I think of Lao-tze; and the dear beauty of the Jew whom they crucified but he lived, he was greater than Rome; And godless Buddha under the boh-tree, straining through his mind the delusions and miseries of human life.
Why does insanity always twist the great answers? Because only tormented persons want truth. Man is an animal like other animals, wants food and success and women, not truth. Only if the mind Tortured by some interior tension has despaired of happiness: then it hates its life-cage and seeks further, And finds, if it is powerful enough. But instantly the private agony that made the search Muddles the finding. Here was a man who envied the chiefs of the provinces of China their power and pride, And envied Confucius his fame for wisdom. Tortured by hardly conscious envy he hunted the truth of things, Caught it, and stained it through with his private impurity. He praised inaction, silence, vacancy: why? Because the princes and officers were full of business, and wise Confucius of words.
Here was a man who was born a bastard, and among the people That more than any in the world valued race-purity, chastity, the prophetic splendors of the race of David. Oh intolerable wound, dimly perceived. Too loving to curse his mother, desert-driven, devil-haunted, The beautiful young poet found truth in the desert, but found also Fantastic solution of hopeless anguish. The carpenter was not his father? Because God was his father, Not a man sinning, but the pure holiness and power of God. His personal anguish and insane solution Have stained an age; nearly two thousand years are one vast poem drunk with the wine of his blood.
And here was another Saviour, a prince in India, A man who loved and pitied with such intense comprehension of pain that he was willing to annihilate Nature and the earth and stars, life and mankind, to annul the suffering. He also sought and found truth, And mixed it with his private impurity, the pity, the denials. Then search for truth is foredoomed and frustrate? Only stained fragments?
Until the mind has turned its love from itself and man, from parts to the whole.
– Robinson Jeffers, 1937.
The greatest American poet, IMHO.
[I took the picture above in November, 2009, not far from Point Sur, California]
In the past I've sometimes used the joking metaphor that I'm in a "relationship" with the Korean Language. Learning (or trying to learn) a language is like that, sometimes.
On Monday (Chuseok day) my friend Peter, an American who had been living and working in Ilsan up until May of last year, returned to Korea for a new teaching job. He visited with me yesterday before going off to his new job, and we took a long walk (about 13 km, in a circle around Ilsan, visiting old haunts and things I guess).
All the walking around, we talked about things, too. One thing that happened was when he made kind of a laconic question to the effect of, "So, has the whole Korean Language thing lost its lustre?" (not exact words, but that was the gist of it).
Without missing a beat, I responded, "Oh, I'm as infatuated with the Korean Language as ever. But she's not returning my calls. It's very sad."
This takes the metaphor to a new level. But it's pretty accurate. Oh well. I've been feeling stuck on a plateau lately, and unable to climb past it.
I didn't take my camera on the long walk – so no pictures. But here's a map-plot of the walk, as best I can reconstruct it from memory. The loop was completed with a two-stop ride on the subway #3 line, back home to Juyeop.
This is #89 out of a series of 108 daily Buddhist affirmations that I am attempting to translate with my hands tied behind my back (well not really that, but I’m deliberately not seeking out translations on the internet, using only dictionary and grammar).
Today is Korean Thanksgiving (Chuseok). I went on a walk. The city is more shut down than Mexico City on Superbowl Sunday (which, contrary to preconceptions, is the most shut-down I ever saw that city).
Hurry, hurry, everyone. Go to your home town, and propitiate some ancestors.
Maybe you can google them first, and find out what they need – google presented a chuseok-themed googledoodle today.