Caveat: disparo en la sien y metralla en la risa

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Not My Poetry / The Wonders of Work

The last two days have been truly exhausting and chaotic.

Yesterday, especially – we had rehearsal for our talent show next week. We also had a partial power failure at hagwon. I got to teach classes in the dark. It was like a weird dream.

What I'm listening to right now.

Silvio Rodríguez, "La Gaviota."

Letra.

Corrían los días de fines de guerra,
y había un soldado regresando intacto,
intacto del frío mortal de la tierra,
intacto de flores de horror en su cuarto.

Elevó los ojos, respiró profundo,
la palabra cielo se hizo en su boca,
y como si no hubiera más en el mundo,
por el firmamento pasó una gaviota.

Gaviota, gaviota, vals del equilibrio,
cadencia increíble, llamada en el hombro.
Gaviota, gaviota, blancura del lirio,
aire y bailarina, gaviota de asombro.

A dónde te marchas, canción de la brisa,
tan rápida, tan detenida,
disparo en la sien y metralla en la risa,
gaviota que pasa y se lleva la vida?

Corrían los días de fines de guerra,
pasó una gaviota volando, volando
lento, como un tiempo de amor que se cierra,
imperio de ala, de cielo y de cuándo.

Gaviota, gaviota, vals del equilibrio,
cadencia increíble, llamada en el hombro,
gaviota, gaviota, blancura del lirio,
aire y bailarina, gaviota de asombro.

Corrían los días de fines de guerra,
pasó una gaviota volando
y el que anduvo intacto rodó por la tierra,
huérfano, desnudo, herido, sangrando.

[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: Morbid Piles of Links

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Cancer / Found Online

I have a morbid habit, which I sometimes indulge. I read the blogs of people with cancer.

These abound on the internet. More often than not, I come across pointers to such blogs in other places, in other contexts, but I will take a moment to add the pointer to a little pile (file) of links I have of "cancer blogs." Then, sometimes, when the mood strikes or I'm feeling mortal or hypochondriac or unlucky, I will read one. 

Many people seem to take the decision to start blog, upon learning they have cancer. 

I was different only in that I long ago started my blog as a coping mechanism to deal with different, unrelated issues (stepping away from my hermetic life and trying to document my efforts to jump-start my career). 

Perhaps I'm a bit different too, in that, since I was blogging before the cancer, now that I'm basically past it successfully (fingers crossed and knock on wood and all that), I continue blogging reliably – many "cancer" blogs "die" not just when their authors die, but also when their authors fail to die, but  instead just get on with life. 

Recently a blog I've visited a few times (a linguist and thus someone whose non-cancer writings also had at least some appeal for me) announced the death of its author after a fairly short (6 month) battle. 

There, now I'm not feeling unlucky anymore.

What I'm listening to right now.

Andy Williams, "House of Bamboo."

Lyrics.

Number fifty-four,
The house with the bamboo door,
Bamboo roof and bamboo walls,
They've even got a bamboo floor!

You must get to know – Soho Joe,
He runs an Expresso,
Called the House of Bamboo.

It's a made of sticks.
Sticks and bricks,
But you can get your kicks
In the house of bamboo.

In this casino, you can drink a chino,
And it's gotcha swingin' to the cha cha
Dance the bolero in a sombrero.
Shake – like a snake!

You wanna drop in when the cats are hoppin'.
Let your two feet move a to the big beat;
Pick yourself a kitten and listen to a platter
That rocks – the juke-box!

I'm a telling you, when you're blue,
Well there's a lot to do
In the House Of Bamboo.

You must get to know – Soho Joe,
He runs an Expresso,
Called the House of Bamboo.

In this casino, you can drink a chino,
Let your two feet move-a to the big beat;
Pick yourself a kitten and listen to a platter
That rocks

I'm a telling you, when you're blue,
Well there's a lot to do
In the House Of Bamboo.

Number fifty-four,
The house with the bamboo door,
Bamboo roof and bamboo walls,
They've even got a bamboo floor!

In the House Of Bamboo.

[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: Extreme Trolleyology

Banalities & Journaling / Found Online / Philosophy & Cultural Criticism

I have covered trolleyology before. Twice.

I ran across this excellent satirical extension on the trolleyology theme, here.

You have to have a certain philosophical bent to enjoy these, probably. Definitely, if you start to read them and don’t understand what’s going on, you need to first make sure you understand the background trolleyological tradition. But I definitely laughed at them.

[daily log: walking, 6 km]

CaveatDumpTruck Logo

Caveat: Quite Rude

Banalities & Journaling / Kids / The Wonders of Work

The other day, I was talking with my often mentioned student, Sophia, about her upcoming role as an assistent MC for our talent show. 

We were planning a kind of skit for a moment near the beginning of the show. In this context, I suggested she could interrupt me – which she does often enough. 

"…but, I can't be rude on purpose," she protested.

I said, "You don't have to be rude. Just be your natural self."

Without pause, she said, "But my natural self is … quite rude." Then she made a funny face, realizing what she'd just admitted.

[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: It is not my Mom’s intention, it is the hair’s

Kids / Media (Texts/Music/Movies etc) / Not My Poetry / 아동 도서 (Children's Books)

There was apparently a bit of a scandal lately, over a small book of children’s poetry that was published in Korea. It made it to the international press.
Some of the poetry was apparently quite violent. The publisher was compelled to withdraw the publication, and remove unsold volumes from vendors. I guess this ended up as a kind of Streisand effect (q.v.), and now everyone wants to see the book. I found some images online of some pages of the book, which I will reproduce below although I may take them down, as it might actually be a legally dubious move to show them.
picture
picture
picture
picture
picture
picture
picture
I really like the poem about the mom’s hair – it is excellent.
The cannibal doll is more scary, and I can see why parents found the idea of giving voice to such morbid (and confucianly-disrepectful!) poetry disturbing. But as a teacher of elementary students, I feel I can assert that such morbid thinking is common in children, and probably developmentally “normal.”
picture[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: One Mountain

Banalities & Journaling / My Photos

The place I live is called Ilsan. That’s not actually the name of the city – the city is officially called Goyang, but Goyang is more like a consolidated city-county, in US terms, as there are several urban clusters with intervening agricultural land within its boundaries.
There are two city districts (boroughs), West Ilsan (Ilsan-seo-gu) and East Ilsan (Ilsan-dong-gu) which together form the area informally known as Ilsan. The name Ilsan, itself, comes from the train station, I suspect, which is on the main northwest Gyeongui line (Gyeongui means “Capital-to-Sinuiju”, Sinuiju being the city in the northwestern corner of North Korea – so this was the main rail line between Seoul and the Chinese border, prior to Korean partition in 1945).
I remember actually spending time at the Ilsan train station in 1991, when I was garrisoned a few stops northwest of Ilsan at Camp Edwards, in the US Army. At that time, Ilsan was a village-like entity surrounding a single-room wooden structure that was labeled as Ilsan train station.
Now, of course, “Ilsan” has half a million residents – it is one of Korea’s most successful “new cities” (신도시 or planned cities).
I’m writing about this because there seems to be some doubt as to where the name “Ilsan” comes from, even among Koreans. “Il” just means “one,” so the name of the city is “One Mountain.” But there is no mountain nearby called “Ilsan” – and most of Ilsan is pretty flat, actually, although just to the north there are some ridges and peaks in the area called Jungsan and Gobong, and within Ilsan there is a very low hill called Jeongbalsan, where I walk frequently, and on the northeast flank of Jeongbalsan is the Cancer Center.
Both Gobong and Jeongbalsan seem like candidates for the “One Mountain” of the name, but I have decided that seems implausible. Neither of them are positioned quite right, relative to the train station that originally bore the name.
On the other hand, a much more distant mountain, called Simhaksan, seems a likely candidate. On Saturday, on the pedestrian footbridge next to my work, which is a few blocks from Ilsan train station, I snapped this picture.

picture

Looking northwest along Ilsan Road, it shows clearly the single, noticeable peak of Simhaksan in the somewhat hazy distance, about 10 km down the road. I [broken link! FIXME] once went up Simhaksan, from whence you can see North Korea easily – basically it is the only mountain between Ilsan and North Korea, in that particular direction.
That’s definitely One Mountain, I thought.
picture[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: Olive Therapy

Banalities & Journaling / Cancer / Food & Drink

As many know, I still have some issues eating "normally." Aside from the fact that I don't have much sense of taste, which means that food just isn't as interesting as it used to be, I also have some issues around the fact that major portions of my tongue lack a sense of touch – it's permanently numb, like it will get after a visit to the dentist when local anaesthetic is used.

This creates eating problems because it's surprising the extent to which we rely on our tongues to manipulate food in our mouths during the process of chewing and moving the food to the back of our mouths in preparation to swallow it. I can't always do this as easily or as successfully as I might hope. That is why my favorite foods now are the sort of soupy or sloppy things, pasta with sauces, soups, porridge, etc., that are "swallowable" without too much tongue movement. 

A month or so ago I bought a can of olives, because I like to chop them into my pastas sometimes. But I made a mistake – they were unpitted olives. I nearly threw them out, but in fact, I do like olives, and I can still enjoy the bitter/salty flavor of them somewhat. 

So I decided to try eating them. 

Things with seeds or pits or bones that end up in my mouth are things I normally dread – if you think about the gymnastics you do with your tongue when you find a watermelon seed or a fish bone, you will understand what I mean.

But sitting at home, I would nibble around my olives and eventually I got brave and, looking at it as a kind of physical therapy, I would try to eat the olive and spit out the pit, in the "normal" way. 

It's kind of like forcing myself to do exercise that is unpleasant but hopefully good for me. I have this idea that I can build up my tongue coordination through diligence and practice. 

So I sit at my desk in the late mornings, with a bowl of unpitted olives, and exercise my tongue. 

It gets sore, on the tip, where there are still some nerve endings (which is what the doctors so miraculously saved, and which is why I am not handicapped in talking, for the most part, despite the loss of nerves in most of my tongue). 

[daily log: chewing, 6 olives]

Caveat: Sausageology?

Banalities & Journaling / Kids / The Wonders of Work

Sihyeon said, "Teacher, do you like sociology?" We were doing a listening question in my TOEFL class, with a lecture on a sociology topic. 

"Sure. It's interesting, sometimes," I equivocated.

"I don't like sociology," he stated, categorically. Continuing, quite serious-toned, he added, "I like sausages." 

In Korean accent, these two words have essentially the same initial sound. Did he think they were related? 

For some reason I laughed a little too long at this. The rest of the class time was not used very effectively.

[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: 50 Years Dead

Banalities & Journaling / Philosophy & Cultural Criticism / Politics, Economics & Current Affairs

A few months ago, I missed mentioning the 50th anniversary of the assassination of Malcolm X, which was on February 21, 1965. It was one of those blog-posts I start to write but never finish. It seems apropos to think about it, however, in light of “Baltimore” and the many other events reflecting the dysfunction of racial and racialized politics in the US.
I don’t visit The Atlantic website on a daily basis, as I used to. At some point, I became fed up with the their constant efforts to pander to the lowest common denominator in the new internet-driven culture industry – so much in the same vein that I boycott the Facebook, I have been in a “soft boycott” (meaning not absolutist, but merely trying to avoid it for the most part) – I have stopped visiting The Atlantic website for the most part. Their recent reformats of their website were especially annoying, as it was all re-written to be “mobile-friendly” I guess, which is fine – but programming a website to have a “mobile” version and a “computer” version is technically trivial (well, not trivial, but certainly within the abilities of a competent IT department). So why “dumb down” one on my computer screen, too, making it more difficult to see all the different content they have?
Oops, OK, that was a digression (or a rant). I was intending to write about Mr X.
I mentioned The Atlantic because there is one editor / blogger at The Atlantic whom I nevertheless seek out and read on a regular basis. That is the journalist Ta-Nehisi Coates. He recently mentioned Malcolm X in passing when discussing the way in which Obama’s rhetoric on personal morality (of “people of color” – e.g. Baltimore) versus his rhetoric on issues of government policy forms a kind of “bait and switch.” This is cogent and uncompromising reasoning – as is almost always my experience with Coates. Anyway, I will let you read his thoughts, here.
However, Coates’ mention caused me to revisit X’s “The Ballot or the Bullet” speech from April, 1964.

Some people might find it dissonant that Malcolm X is one of people whom I most admire in history. I am neither black, nor a muslim, nor a revolutionary. I am not, arguably, American anymore, either. Furthermore, I have strong philosophical opposition to nationalisms of all flavors, and there is no denying Malcolm X’s nationalist bent.
I think I admire him because he seemed devoid of hypocrisy and self-deception, which is possibly the human failing I most dislike – both in myself and in those around me. Malcolm X called out hypocrisy wherever he saw it. His was a righteous righteousness, therefore.
It’s possible, too, that I admire him as a rhetorician. Certainly now, when I am, in essence, a teacher of rhetoric (if you want to reframe middle-school EFL in as grandiose manner as possible), I am very conscious of and inspired by his control of the spoken word. Even before my current career, however, I was quite drawn to talented speakers.
Regardless of why I admire him, I will merely conclude with an acknowledgement that I consider him one of the greatest Americans – something I’ve commented [broken link! FIXME] before on this blog, admittedly.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: 귀소문 말고 눈소문 하라

Philosophy & Cultural Criticism / 한국말을 배움 (Failing to Learn Korean) / 한국어 속담 (Aphorisms & Proverbs)

This is an aphorism from my book of aphorisms.

귀소문 말고 눈소문 하라
gwi.so.mun mal.go nun.so.mun ha.ra
 ear-report refrain-CONJ eye-report do-COMMAND
Refrain from [believing] the report of the ears, but rather [believe] the report of the eyes.

“Seeing is believing,” of course. Then again, as a fan of (or, anyway, someone fascinated by) apophenia, sometimes we see things that are not there, and we choose to believe them, because our impulse to believe seems to epistemologically precede our sensory capacity.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: We are smart

Banalities & Journaling / The Wonders of Work

I was sitting in the staff room last night, busily completing my class logs and doing some essay editing, and Seyeong and Seunghyeon walked by about 20 minutes before the end of the last class.

The two 9th grade girls popped their heads into the staffroom and said goodbye. 

"Why are you leaving early?" I asked, surprised. It's not common for one of the middle-school teachers to release kids early.

The girls laughed and said in strange unison, "We are smart."

They ran off.

I puzzled as to what this meant. At first, I interpreted it to mean that they had somehow cleverly escaped their teacher's clutches. If it had been some other student, this would have been the logical answer. But they are diligent students – this seemed unlikely. Instead, I decided they merely meant they had gotten some exceptionally good score on something, and thus the teacher had allowed them to go early.

[daily log: walking, 7 km]

Caveat: 수박 겉 핥기

한국말을 배움 (Failing to Learn Korean) / 한국어 속담 (Aphorisms & Proverbs)

This is an aphorism from my aphorism book.

수박 겉 핥기
su.bak geot halt.gi
watermelon surface taste-GER
[… like] licking the skin of a watermelon.

This seems to refer to the superficial enjoyment of something without knowledge of the deeper meaning. Googletranslate gives “scratch the surface” but I’m not sure that’s quite exactly the same – “scratch the surface,” to me, anyway, means something neutral, as in, just getting started digging into some topic (potentially negitive but also potentially positive). The Korean seems more definitely negative, to my perception, implying a kind of “failing to dig deeper.”
[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: the potatoes are burning

Background Noise / Not My Poetry

46. Harold Arnett

I leaned against the mantel, sick, sick,
Thinking of my failure, looking into the abysm,
Weak from the noon-day heat.
A church bell sounded mournfully far away,
I heard the cry of a baby,
And the coughing of John Yarnell,
Bed-ridden, feverish, feverish, dying,
Then the violent voice of my wife:
"Watch out, the potatoes are burning!"
I smelled them … then there was irresistible disgust.
I pulled the trigger … blackness … light…
Unspeakable regret … fumbling for the world again.
Too late! Thus I came here,
With lungs for breathing … one cannot breathe here with lungs,
Though one must breathe…. Of what use is it
To rid one’s self of the world,
When no soul may ever escape the eternal destiny of life?
– Edgar Lee Masters (American poet, 1868–1950)

The poem is from The Spoon River Anthology, published 100 years ago this year. I came to these poems late (meaning I was never exposed to them, as far as I can remember, during my literary education. Nevertheless, I can understand why they are important landmarks in American literature.

What I'm listening to right now.

Antonín Dvořák, "Requiem."

[daily log: walking, here and there]

Caveat: Rent-an-Alligator

Banalities & Journaling / Kids / The Wonders of Work

The other day, I had a student who really wanted to buy one of my alligator pencil cases (which I buy at the stationery store and sell to the students for alligator bucks). 

"It's cute," she said.

We settled on a price of 50 alligator bucks. She named it 'Albert.'

She ran away contentedly to play with it.

When I saw her 2 hours later, she handed me the alligator pencil case.

"I'm done with it," she explained. "I want my 50 dollars."

"Wait a minute," I said. "You can't do that. Now it's used." 

I had to explain the concept of used. "Who's going to buy a used alligator pencil case?" I asked.

In fact, Albert had managed to get noticeably dirty during his two hour fling. I pointed at the dirty white underside.

She would have none of it. "I don't want it." 

After some debate, I finally agreed to give her a refund but with an "alligator rental fee" deducted, in the amount of 3 dollars. So I counted out a refund of 47 dollars.

She seemed happy with this. 

I wonder if this could be a business model, moving forward? 

[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: Barking? No, the other end

Background Noise / Found Online / Politics, Economics & Current Affairs / Science & SciFi

Ha. The "surveillance state" is going to the dogs, now. 

The well-named municipality of Barking and Dagenham, in the UK, is going to be genetically testing dog poo and requiring pet owners to register their pets' DNA – this will allow unambiguous attribution of guilt to owners who don't clean up after their pets.

How far we've come. This seems like one of those fake news snippets from a 1960s-era Heinlein novel.

Really, though… could George Orwell have foreseen this?

What I'm listening to right now.

Informatik, "My True Love." The lyrics are stunningly banal – not what I would hope for from goth-rock. But whatever… I guess I like the sound of it. 

Lyrics.

My true love – the only one for me
And the other there will never be
My true love – always there for me
When I'm feeling so lonely
My true love calls my name
That's when I go running
My true love will never let me down
Please don't let me down

The more that I see you
The more that I need you
This feeling just won't go away

I can't live without you
I won't ever doubt you
I'm begging you – don't go away

My true love whispers to me
Tells me all the things that I want to hear
My true love takes over me
Will never let me go, never set me free
My true love is my everything
Everything I am, all I'll ever be
My true love will never let me down
Please don't let me down

The more that I see you
The more that I need you
This feeling just won't go away
(Won't go, won't go away)

I can't live without you
I won't ever doubt you
I'm begging you – don't go away
(Don't go, don't go away)

You have left your mark on me
I will never be the same
Even if I walk away

Your heavenly embrace
Not so easy to erase
Will I ever have the strength
To say goodbye to you

The more that I see you
The more that I need you
This feeling just won't go away

I can't live without you
I won't ever doubt you
I'm begging you – don't go away

[daily log: walking, ]

 

Caveat: On Loneliness

Banalities & Journaling / Quotable

People think I'm weird because I don't seem to suffer from loneliness. Sometimes I feel gloomy or restless or bored, but I almost never experience loneliness. 

I guess that's weird.

I make sure I get a good dose of sociality through my choice of career. And kids make better company than adults, in my opinion. They are "high intensity" social experiences, so you get lots of sociality in a short time. Then I can go home and be alone-but-not-lonely.

"If you are lonely when you're alone, you are in bad company." – Jean-Paul Sartre.

[daily log: walking, 7 km]

Caveat: Los tijuanes de tucana

Banalities & Journaling / Español Aleatorio (Random Spanish)

Ayer fue el cinco de mayo. Por eso me hice una celebración que incluyó no hacer nada pero hacerlo muy bien. 

Lo que estoy escuchando en este momento.

Los Tucanes de Tijuana, "El tío borrachales."

Letra.

Escuchen señores
aqui esta la historia
del tio borrachales
la gente le apoda.

Le encanta la peda
siempre anda en la bola,
no distingue marcas
ni le hace la cruda.

Le gusta de todo,
nomás que atarante
con el primer trago
se siente cantante.

Tequila o cerveza,
coñac, wiskhy o vino
Charanda o tepache
alcohol o tejuino.

El tio borrachales agarra parejo
por eso es que siempre se pone borracho
El tio borrachales no tiene remedio
siempre anda de fiesta es mas que bohemio.
el tio borrachales siempre anda contento
disfruta la vida al ciento por ciento
El tio borrachales siempre anda diciendo:
Salud mis amigos por este momento.

Arriba y abajo al centro y pa' dentro.

Salud tio…(Salud mijo).

Escuchen señores
aqui esta la historia
del tio borrachales
la gente le apoda.

Le encanta la peda
siempre anda en la bola,
no distingue marcas
ni le hace la cruda.

Le gusta de todo,
nomás que atarante
con el primer trago
se siente cantante.

Tequila o cerveza,
coñac, wiskhy o vino
Charanda o tepache
alcohol o tejuino.

El tio borrachales agarra parejo
por eso es que siempre se pone borracho
El tio borrachales no tiene remedio
siempre anda de fiesta es mas que bohemio.
el tio borrachales siempre anda contento
disfruta la vida al ciento por ciento
El tio borrachales siempre anda diciendo:
Salud mis amigos por este momento.

Arriba y abajo al centro y pa' dentro.

Salud tio…(Salud mijo).

[daily log: ps… ¿caminá x día festivo? x naaaa… 6 km]

Caveat: Hi Kids!

Banalities & Journaling / My Drawings & Paintings

Today is that peculiar Korean holiday, “Children’s Day,” which works ironically for teachers, since we don’t work, and therefore do not see children on children’s day, unless we have our own.
I drew this on the whiteboard yesterday, with my trademark phrase.
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picture[daily log: walking, 1 km]

Caveat: 살아가면 고향

한국말을 배움 (Failing to Learn Korean) / 한국어 속담 (Aphorisms & Proverbs)

This is an aphorism from my aphorism book.

살아가면 고향
sal.a.ga.myeon go.hyang
lead-life-WHEN hometown
Home is where you’re living.

It means that living somewhere, it becomes home. “Home is where you hang your hat.” Or, in Buckaroo Bonzai terms, “Wherever you go, there you are.”
This is highly relevant. I need to remember this when Koreans ask me where my home is.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: Later

Banalities & Journaling / Kids / The Wonders of Work

I have this one student, Sophia, who talks and talks and talks and talks and… you get the picture.

She is the closest to a native-speaking student I have ever had in Korea, I think, and she is quite verbal, too. She is in the 4th grade of elementary school, and has never studied abroad, so she is a bit of a prodigy – I'm sure I've mentioned her before.

She is also a bit "needy" and is constantly asking for things, wanting me to do things, needing my attention or time. I have a habit, with native-speaking kids, that I am hardly aware of, where I will say something that perhaps a lot of English-speaking parents or teachers say to kids. To these ongoing, persistent requests I will often respond, simply, "Later." If I listen to myself saying it, I hear my father's voice, clearly.

Today, Sophia came about 20 minutes early, before her class was scheduled to start. I was working in the staff-room.

She wanted to look at videos on my computer. I said, "Later."

She wanted to play a game on my phone. I said, "Later."

She wanted to "borrow" a board game from my drawer. I said, "Later, you have class soon."

"You always say 'later'," she whined. She has an amazing capacity to go from laughter to tears in less than 30 seconds.

"I'm a little bit busy," I said, by way of apology.

She made a kind of harrumph. She sat down in a chair near my desk and folded her arms, looking quite serious.

"What?" I asked, as she waited there with a grimmace.

"We need to discuss what 'later' means," she announced. Those were her words, exactly. I think she watches too many American TV shows, maybe.

 [daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: 눈치 없는 사람

Banalities & Journaling / The Wonders of Work / 한국말을 배움 (Failing to Learn Korean)

I learned a new Korean expression from an elementary 2nd grader today – which is perhaps my preferred source of new Korean expressions.
She was describing another student as 눈치 없는 사람 [nun.chi eop.neun sa.ram], with a sigh of resignation. I said, what do you mean? She took the time to patiently explain it to me. This is why I like learning things from kids – they are more patient than adults in explaining things to clueless foreigners.
I had learned 눈치 as meaning something like “notice” or “telltale clue”. But apparently it also means “common sense” and “tact.” So a 눈치 없는 사람 is a tactless person, or a person with no common sense. For that matter, it might be a close match for American slang “clueless”, which seems capture the other valences of the word 눈치 well.
This is a very useful expression. A lot of kids have this issue.

Last night, after work, we had a 회식 (work dinner) to celebrate the end of exam-prep time. I wasn’t feeling very celebratory – I feel stressed, as we have looming month-end tests for elementary and the upcoming prepartion for our talent show thing at the end of May.
[daily log: walking, z km]

Caveat: monstruos socráticos

Not My Poetry

Los buzos diamantistas

I

Una nítida noche, en que la pedrería
sideral deslumbrada,
los buzos diamantistas, en santa cofradía,
descendimos al mar…
Puede ser -nos dijimos- puede ser
que la luz de Saturno, diluyéndose, forme
algún extravagante sulfato, alguna gema
nunca vista jamás…

II

Puede ser, nos dijimos…
Lunarios opalinos, Academias
rutilantes de nácar y coral,
donde monstruos socráticos decían
que sólo siendo feo se puede ser genial.
Dialéctica sucinta de un sabio calamar:
Seamos impasibles, sublimes y profundos
como el fondo del mar.
Si no por altivez, por desencanto
imitemos el gesto del océano
monótono y salobre…
Es lo mismo que un astro se derrumbe
o se muera un gusano.
Seamos impasibles como el fondo del mar…

III

Y después –oh adverbio ineludible–
una joven medusa iridiscente
embrujo nuestros sueños.
¿Qué doncella mortal puede tener
su encanto deleznable, y sus pupilas
que fosforecen vírgenes de llanto?
Una vez nada más, entre dos aguas,
contemplamos su grácil navegar.
Como el rey Apolonio ahora decimos:
Yo tuve un nombre,
un bello nombre que perdí en el mar.

IV

En un cielo violáceo bosteza Lucifer.
El ponto está cantando su canción azul.
Los buzos diamantistas, en sana cofradía,
volvemos a la tierra, a vivir otra vez.
Traemos del abismo la pesadumbre ignota
de lo que pudo ser…
– Renato Leduc (poeta mexicano, 1897-1986)

 [daily log: walking, 3.5 km]

Caveat: Draw, Scan, Edit, Print

Banalities & Journaling / My Drawings & Paintings / The Wonders of Work

Yesterday I finally did something I have been meaning to do for quite some time.

I took the time to scan one of my alligator pictures, "trace" it into a graphics application (Inkscape, which I'm trying to learn how to use), touch it up a little bit, and then convert to a scalable graphics image (e.g. a .PNG file in this case). 

I think the result went well. I printed out a bunch of these cloned alligators on our color printer at work, and immediately had tribes of elementary students bidding to "buy" these pictures with their alligator bucks. Helen said I should charge what the market would bear. I didn't charge – I gave them away. Socialist: alligator illustrations to each according to their need.

I will try to do a few more, I guess. This alligator is specific to our upcoming talent show. 

Karmagator3

[daily log: walking, 6 km]

 

Caveat: 두 손뼉이 맞아야 소리가 난다

한국말을 배움 (Failing to Learn Korean) / 한국어 속담 (Aphorisms & Proverbs)

This is an aphorism from my aphorism book.

두 손뼉이 맞아야 소리가 난다
du son.ppyeok.i maj.a.ya so.ri.ga nan.da
two palm-SUBJ meet-OFCOURSE(?) sound-SUBJ comes-out-PRES
With two palms meeting, sound comes out.

This has the meaning of “it takes a team [at least two] to get anything done.” It’s not quite the same as the English phrase “it takes two [to tango]”, which has a kind of negative implication about how it takes two people to do something bad (like argue or fight). The Korean seems positive in its valences.
I was (am) puzzled by the ending -야 on the finite verb form 맞 아. According to my grammar bible, the -야 ending is for nouns with that “even” or “of course” meaning. But it made sense to assume that’s what was being done here. I have a vague recollection of a verbal -야 studied somewhere, but  I can’t remember the specifics and for the life of me I can’t find it right now in my grammar books. 
[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: The deep fragrance and impressive taste of coffee beans have just roasted

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling

2015-04-26 11.56.20I was laughing at the slogan on a lovely cardboard coffee tote from a local coffee shop (picture at right).

The deep fragrance and impressive taste of coffee beans have just roasted.

A coworker asked what was wrong. "Is it bad grammar?" she asked.

"No. It's … grammatical," I explained. "But…  I don't think it means what they think it means."

If a fragrance and a taste get together one night, and roast, what is the result?

What I'm listening to right now. A whole new genre: "country hiphop."

Yelawolf, "Til It's Gone."

Lyrics.

[Verse 1:]
I'm not the table you can come and lay your cup down on, now
I'm not the shoulder for a bag. The one that carried a heavy load
I'm not the road that you take when you looking for a short cut, uh
I ain't the stepping stone to be stepping on
I ain't nobodies crutch
I ain't the money man, with your money, man
You ain't looking at me
I'm not the cheap one, looking at me son
You ain't looking at free
I ain't the dish rag to come clean up all the shit that you dish out
Ain't got no check for em'
If you checking in, mothafucka, check this out

[Hook:]
Ain't much I can do but I do what I can
But I'm not a fool there's no need to pretend
And just because you got yourself in some shit
It doesn't mean I have to come deal with it
You handle your own when you become a man
And become a man when you handle your own
Ain't much I can do, but I do what I can
But what can I do if I do till it's gone? Oh oh
Till it's gone. Oh oh [x3]
What can I do if I do till it's gone?

[Verse 2:]
I'm not the the trash can. Not the last man at the finish line, now
I'm not the new kid on the block that you can just follow and push around
I'm not the fucking needle in the hay stack that you finally found
This ain't no free rent. Come and pitch a tent
You ain't tying me down
I'm not a bus ride you can hop inside and just roll away clean
Like the wheel on the wagon you wanna break
Cause I hold up the weight for the team
I'm not the gold watch and the new truck that your scheming to check out
Unless your looking to check out (powpowpow)
What a mess, now (come on)

[Hook:]
Ain't much I can do but I do what I can
But I'm not a fool there's no need to pretend
And just because you got yourself in some shit
It doesn't mean I have to come deal with it
You handle your own when you become a man
And become a man when you handle your own
Ain't much I can do, but I do what I can
But what can I do if I do till it's gone? Oh oh
Till it's gone. Oh oh [x3]
What can I do if I do till it's gone?

[Verse 3:]
I jump to the sky for my people
I walk through the fire. I give love when it's equal
Don't tell me not to complain about my money and fame
When you come around me telling me I've changed
Damn, right I've fucking changed
When there's fucking change in my pocket hit the bucket
It was a rocking all a sudden
I went from shopping without nothing
To going shopping for my cousins
Now that the cops know that I'm buzzing,
They wanna drop me in the oven
Pull me over just to say "I'm a fan"
Hip hop; gotta love it, but fuck it

[Hook:]
Ain't much I can do but I do what I can
But I'm not a fool there's no need to pretend
And just because you got yourself in some shit
It doesn't mean I have to come deal with it
You handle your own when you become a man
And become a man when you handle your own
Ain't much I can do, but I do what I can
But what can I do if I do till it's gone? Oh oh
Till it's gone. Oh oh [x3]
What can I do if I do till it's gone?

[daily log: walking, 1 km]

Caveat: Ha! Ha!

Found Online

Mostly my interest in travel has waned since my illness. I don't quite understand it, but I don't even fantasize about traveling in the way that I used to almost constantly. 

Anyway, nevertheless I ran across a place I feel I must visit – only because of the name.

There is the town, in Quebec, called Saint-Louis-du-Ha! Ha!

How could one not want to visit such a town?

[daily log: walking, 6.5 km]

Caveat: Soup for Nostalgia’s Sake on the Field of Justice

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Food & Drink

I don't get very ambitious with my cooking, much, these days.

Mostly, every time I buy some food item or attempt to cook some food item, out of craving or whatever, I am inevitably disappointed. Eating just isn't fun – not even the the easiest-to-eat foods, like omelettes or noodle soup (국수) or rice porridge (죽) – at best, they are utilitarian and serve the purpose of providing me with sustenance with minimal discomfort. 

So mostly I just don't bother. I have my instant soup mixes and my pasta and my eggs, and I prepare them always the same way and with the least effort required, because putting in extra effort or attention to detail offers no noticeable improvement in quality-of-experience. 

Last night I was feeling nostalgic. I had run into a former student, Eunjin, on the street the other day, and she shocked me by running up to me and hugging me (note that Koreans are not, normally, notable for effusiveness in this manner). She is in high school now but she had always been a remarkably motivated student in the years I taught her. She told me she hated English now because of how it is taught in high school, but she missed my classes. That was flattering, I guess.

Then my former coworker Ken stopped by work last night. He's left the English teaching biz and is working for Samsung in some businessman-type functionality. This is probably good for his bank account and his ambition, but may be contrary to his core inclinations. Anyway, although I don't think of him that often, in seeing him I realized I missed the constant dialogue and banter I'd had with him during our years working together.

Anyway, I was feeling nostalgic, and when I get nostalgic, I sometimes find myself cooking, for no good reason whatsoever. 

I made pea soup. It wasn't exceptionally fun to eat, but the act of making it was enjoyable, if that makes any sense. 

2015-04-23 09.57.53

What I'm listening to right now.

Philip Glass, "Satyagraha (Act 1, Tolstoy)."

[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: Rogue Teratocytes

Banalities & Journaling / Science & SciFi

I was reading a blog I sometimes frequent, called slatestarcodex, authored by a rather polymathic psychiatrist who has some background in conworlding (which the context in which I first came across him). 

He mentioned in one of his collections of links a concept I hadn't come across before, which is the idea of "cell line infections." Since this was clearly related to cancer, and I've become a bit of a glutton for semi-hypochondrial cancer-related online reading, I followed the link and satisfied my curiosity.

Here is the article. I also did some reading in wikipedia. 

Cell line infections are scary. The idea is that a given cancer can "evolve" sufficiently that it can be transmitted like other infections vectors – e.g. bacteria or viruses or prions – to other individuals. There are now documented CLIs for dogs, clams, and tasmanian devils (and in the last case, it may be contributing to the rapid extinction of the species). Basically, the idea is that my cancer could end up in your body, and take root there and become your cancer. Infectious cancer. More fun.

From a biological perspective, these cell line infections are weird. These are things that behave, for all intents and purposes, like single-celled parasitic organisms, not unlike infectious bacteria. Yet genetically they are your relatives (well, they are the relatives of the particular individual in whom they first arose). To anthropomorphize a bit, they know you. In the documented instance, the dog CLI knows how to deal with a dog immune system, for example – because it is, in a genetic sense, just a weird manifestation of an actual dog – a sort of single-celled vector of a dog. 

Apparently, there is something similar in the always-wacky insect world, among what are called parasitoid wasps. These wasps' eggs and larvae (implanted in other insect species' larvae) send out single-celled vectors called teratocytes that manipulate the host individuals' metabolisms to make it a friendlier environment for the growing eggs. This is not the same as e.g. the infamous toxoplasmosis, which is a case of a kind of mutualistic/parasitic symbiosis between a single-celled organism and several multicelled organisms. Instead, these teratocyte vectors sent out by the wasps are members of the same wasp species, genetically – just a kind of strange phenotype.

So following on that insect-related terminology, maybe these mammalian cell line infections could be called "rogue mammalian teratocytes." 

Just when one feels one has a handle on what is biologically possible, something comes along that makes it all seem quite ephemeral, and ungraspable – the cohesive theoretic picture melts into a swirling, incoherent field of possibilities, like a poorly-realized science fiction novel.

[daily log: walking, 7 km]

Caveat: The Semiotics of the Lego Movie

Found Online / Media (Texts/Music/Movies etc) / Philosophy & Cultural Criticism

I had actually had some thoughts, in this vein, before running across this. But Mike Rugnetta says it eloquently and in depth. So I'll let him say it.

You see, the copyright-litigious LegoCorp has made a movie that is symbolically anti-copyright-regime. 

As Rugnetta points out, the "piece-de-resistance" is cash.

Anyway, hattip to Laughing Squid, where I ran across this video.

[daily log: walking, 6.5 km]

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