Caveat: The Remarkable Chilean Polity

There are possible solutions, within a system-of-government framework not unlike our own (i.e. presidential, bicameral, republican, more-or-less two-party), to the never-ending U.S. deficit/budget crisis. Why is it that the best, clearest explanation of these budget options comes not in any recent news article on the topic of the actual budget/deficit situation, but in a discussion of how Chile, in contrast, seems to have gotten things “right”? Despite the “Great Recession,” the country is currently still running an underlying structural budget surplus!

I found the article fascinating, extraordinarily clear, and refreshing – I very much recommend it. Despite being posted on an economics blog, it’s entirely accessible to those unversed in the obscurities of the dismal science. The blog’s author, economist Ed Dolan, summarizes:

The centerpiece of Chilean fiscal policy is a balanced budget rule of a much more sophisticated variety than the one endorsed last week [relative to timestamp on blog post: 2011-07-24] by the U.S. House of Representatives. The House bill calls for strict year-to-year balance of total receipts and outlays, whereas Chile’s rule requires annual balance of the structural budget. The two are not at all the same.

I suppose it’s very possible that, in a month, or a year, or a decade, we’ll see some collapse of the Chilean polity, putting a lie to its current apparent functionality (as opposed to the U.S. dysfunctionality). Recent geopolitical developments have certainly been full of interesting surprises. But based on my own time in Chile, back in 1994 (when the dictatorship was still quite fresh in everyone’s mind), there was something about the way that country had emerged from its recent political/economic trauma with a sort of “never again” resolve that impressed me profoundly.


pictureChile is not devoid of problems – the recent clashes between the new, conservative Piñera government and student protesters is a good example of the kind of tensions found there. And like most “tiger”-type, neoliberal economies (including my current home, South Korea), it has huge difficulties balancing economic growth with unequal distribution of wealth and difficult-to-eliminate structural corruption. But having traveled extensively in the world, Chile remains at the very top of my list of favorite places, and though I haven’t been back since 1994, hopefully someday I’ll get back there.

Unlike anywhere else I’ve been in Latin America, in Chile I never had any feeling of impending anarchy, I had no sense that authority is inherently not-to-be-trusted – indeed, one of the striking things in the way that Chileans talked to me about the dictatorship and social unrest of the 70’s and 80’s was that they all deemed it to have been so exceptional vis-a-vis the “normal” Chilean national character. If you study the country’s history, you quickly realize this is, largely, self-mythologizing – but that doesn’t invalidate it as a national self-perception. In fact, it makes it all the more remarkable. It is such a contrast to the way dictatorships and official corruption seem to perceived in most of Latin America, where these things are always taken as “well that’s just the way things always are.” In that way, Chile always felt “first world” to me, despite  lacking that “first world” level of general prosperity.

In other Chile-related news, I recently read that the town of Arica, in the desert north of Chile, recently received 6 millimeters of rain – a typical amount for an hour or two on a summer’s day in Seoul – and set a new record for most precipitation ever. Arica is notoriously the driest place on earth, with some outlying areas having no recorded precipitation in all of history.

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Caveat: Our Potemkin Planet

I'm not even close to agreeing with everything blogger IOZ writes, but this little summary in a recent post really captures a lot of information and ideas in a very compact bit of prose.  I must quote:

The problem is in fact not that people need jobs but that people need money, and hobbling them to a desk or factory floor is the only moral and legitimate means of funneling currency into their empty jugs.  We need to have fuller employment so that more people are getting paid so that the consumer economy expands ad inf[initum] and repeat as necessary.  There are, if you consider it even briefly, a half million or so unexamined assumptions underlying all of this.

He goes on to declare that both democrats and republicans are silly, which I can marginally agree with, but also that Barack Obama is a murderer (which I will grant is provisionally true, but only in the same sense that every modern American president trying to manage an empire ultimately beyond his control has been a murderer).  I'm less comfortable with such rhetorical flights.  But the preceding thought about jobs cuts to the core of the limitations of life on our increasingly Potemkin Planet. 

His conclusion:  "Beyond the merely pecuniary and the venial: what does your life mean to you beyond your paystub and your appetites?"

I'm working on the answer to this, and feel I'm making only a little progress.  But I agree it needs to be sought.

Caveat: 80) 가장 큰 힘이 사랑이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다

“I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that the most powerful thing is love.”

This is #80 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).


78. 가장 큰 축복이 자비심이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that the greatest blessing is compassion.”
79. 가장 큰 재앙이 미움, 원망이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that the greatest misfortune is hatred [and] resentment.”
80. 가장 큰 힘이 사랑이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.

I would read this eightieth affirmation as: “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that the most powerful thing is love.”

Like some kind of Beatles song. But this translation marks a new milestone. I knew with 100% confidence what this meant – no dictionary, no checking. Just plain obvious. Having the pattern of the preceding helps.

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Caveat: Flash! (?)

The humor in this picture I found online is very geeky, very inside-jokey, but it made me laugh out loud. Do you see it?  It’s pretty subtle. If you see it, you’re a geek. If you laugh, you’re a nerd, too.

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Caveat: Looters Just Looking for Love

RE the recent rioting in London, I ran across the following telling observation reported by blogger Penny Red:

In one NBC report, a young man in Tottenham was asked if rioting really achieved anything:

"Yes," said the young man. "You wouldn't be talking to me now if we didn't riot, would you?"

"Two months ago we marched to Scotland Yard, more than 2,000 of us, all blacks, and it was peaceful and calm and you know what? Not a word in the press. Last night a bit of rioting and looting and look around you."

I remember the 1992 riots in L.A.  I was living in Pasadena at the time – they were pretty much an immediate part of my environment.  My thought at the time was that part of it was about that feeling of simply not having any way of being heard.  And so giving up on efforts to be heard, on efforts at dialog, and just letting it vent into pure rage.  I suspect something similar must be what's involved in London.

Given the increasing stratifications (gap between rich and poor) of most Western societies, and the troubled economy and the emphasis everywhere on "austerity" as opposed to expansive (i.e. Keynesian) government responses, we will only be seeing more of this, in the future. 

I saw another blogger (I uncharactistically neglected to bookmark so I don't recall who) who observed that it's quite ridiculous that we don't view social welfare spending as a component of the supposedly critical (and generally uncuttable) national security budget.  Obviously, the recent and ongoing cuts to social welfare in Britain were major contributors to the conflagration in London this past week.  How is that not "national security"?

Caveat: Something Banal About My Day

pictureI had a pretty good day today.  Not any bad classes. The ET kids (just a name for an elementary-age cohort, I’m not trying to imply they’re aliens) are smart and fun, and I bought them cup-o-chicken thingies from the fast-food joint downstairs (they made the menu selection) because they’d all done their homework. The middle-schoolers were all well behaved and engaged – not a single rude or inattentive individual among them, at least today. I felt good about how things went.

And I even went for 3 km jog in the sauna-like evening when I got home, and then had some rice with beans and kimchi. I feel tired now.

That was perhaps surprising – the day didn’t start that well, since I woke up from a rather unpleasant dream in which I was working as a cashier at that hardware store I worked at in the fall of 1985, living in Chicago. Which I guess is typical random sort of dream, except that in the dream, I was unable to figure out how to work the cash register, which made working as a cashier pretty stressful.

Random.

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Caveat: 79) 가장 큰 재앙이 미움, 원망이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다

“I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that the greatest misfortune is hatred [and] resentment.”

This is #79 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).


77. 자연이 우리들의 스승이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that nature is our teacher.”
78. 가장 큰 축복이 자비심이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that the greatest blessing is compassion.”
79. 가장 큰 재앙이 미움, 원망이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.

I would read this seventy-ninth affirmation as: “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that the greatest misfortune is hatred [and] resentment.”

Yes.

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Caveat: Mitt Lille Land

pictureMaybe a week or two ago, I was surfing the internet looking at news or commentary on the Norwegian disaster. I don’t really have any profundity to contribute, but I ran across this video at some point, and the musical accompaniment has become a new favorite on my mp3 rotation. I’ve always had a thing for songs in languages I don’t understand, I suppose – so the fact that it’s in Norwegian doesn’t bother me at all – Norwegian is one of those languages that’s in the category of “gee I’d really like to study that language someday” – along with about 50 other languages, right?

It’s a haunting tune, and since the bombing in Oslo / massacre at Utoya, has become a sort of informal anthem that Norwegians apparently associate with commemorating the events. The original song is by Ole Paus, and I like his version too – almost better. But here’s Maria Mena’s version, set to video footage from the aftermath of the attacks.

Ole Paus’ version follows below – it’s set to a video made of photo stills from some who-knows-who’s Norwegian vacation – which feels oddly intimate and intrusive to look at, to me – but unfortunately it’s the only full version of the original that I could find. I like its almost vaguely Appalachian sound.

Here are the lyrics. Norwegian is possibly my favorite of the Germanic languages (well, I like Dutch, too, and English has a certain amibivalent popularity in my heart, I must confess – but that may simply be excessive familiarity).

Mitt lille land
Et lite sted, en håndfull fred
slengt ut blant vidder og fjord

Mitt lille land
Der høye fjell står plantet
mellom hus og mennesker og ord
Og der stillhet og drømmer gror
Som et ekko i karrig jord

Mitt lille land
Der havet stryker mildt og mykt
som kjærtegn fra kyst til kyst

Mitt lille land
Der stjerner glir forbi
og blir et landskap når det blir lyst
mens natten står blek og tyst

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Caveat: Plus or Minus

I’m not in fact excited by this new thing out there called google+ (google plus).  It’s not entirely rational.  I use facebook, and in fact, I dislike it.  I’m a perfect profile of an early adopter when it comes to this type of thing.  Yet I don’t want to.  Here’s how I’m thinking about it.

For the last half decade, I have viewed google and how I use it as a rather “professional space.”  I rely on it, utterly, being an expat with only remote access to the servers that host my underlying internet domain names and email addresses.  It’s also where I keep my writing (such as it is – having once lost an entire novel to a hard drive failure), I now keep my writing in google docs as well as on two different hard drives, most of the time.

Meanwhile, my attitude about “social networks” such as facebook is that there is something, at core, deeply “unprofessional” about them.  So in google+ I find my “professional” webspace trying to elbow its way into my “unprofessional” one, and my gut reaction is: “no, these things need to stay separate.”

I don’t ever want to be in a situation where something involving my “social presence” online compromises my ability to access my professional webspace.  You hear horror stories about people getting banned from facebook due to some misunderstood post, which involves some controversial statement or even the behavior of some online “friend.”  I can’t risk losing access to tools such as gmail and google docs, at this point – they are integrated into my current lifestyle too deeply.

I’m not sure if this is entirely rational.  But even as it is, I sometimes dread having some online acquaintance post something embarrassing or inappropriate on my facebook – given it’s a space also accessible to many former bosses and coworkers as well as my current boss (not to mention former and current students!).  People will say, “well, but Jared, you post so much personal and deep and intimate stuff on this blog!  What’s the difference?”  And I will say, only, “that’s a good point.”  But I would differentiate only the following:  I have absolute curatorial control over my blog.  I own it.  I own the server it’s on (well, I rent it – but I control it).  Facebook, on the other hand, says right in its “end user agreement” that they are the ones with curatorial control of your content, and you hear stories about people who put things on facebook and can’t make them disappear or can’t edit them later.  Or about the people who get banned from facebook for some misunderstood post or comment.  More than once, I’ve gone back and changed some past post in this blog, after reconsidering the impact of the kind of impression it might make on some reader or another.

Well, that’s all not that relevant.  I’m feeling like this is a pretty rambling, incoherent attempt at a rant.

All I’m saying is that I don’t feel at all interested in trying google plus, despite despising facebook and yet being utterly “married” to it, at this point – I value its ability to keep me in touch with people.

Unrelatedly, what I’m listening to right now.

K-os, “Hallelujah.” [UPDATE: the following sentence is no longer true. Youtube embed was used, the German one had rotted anyway.] The embedded video is from some German website, since the youtube version was blocked in Korea (grumble annoyance grumble).

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Caveat: …for endings, as it is known, are where we begin

Yesterday, yes, a day of ending things. I finished reading a novel: Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore. That’s been an “in progress” book for… almost a year. I finished reading a novella, too: Seo Hajin’s Hong Gildong (in translation; not the medieval Korean novel, nor the modern TV reinterpretation – rather, a modernist novella with a thematically related character). I’m not that good at finishing books, these days, so these are major accomplishments.

pictureLastly, I finished watching the episodes of season 2 of the TV series Pushing Daisies. It’s kind of inconsistent in quality, but it’s by the same guy who created Dead Like Me, which was a very underrated series with some similar themes. Really well written, for the most part, and funny. The narrator, in his concluding words at the close of season 2: “…for endings, as it is known, are where we begin.”

I suppose yesterday was the kind of day where I live up to just how boring my life seems. But I’m OK with it being boring, for now.

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Caveat: 78) 가장 큰 축복이 자비심이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다

“I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that the greatest blessing is compassion.”

This is #78 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).


76. 자연이 생명 순환의 법칙이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that nature follows the law of life cycles.”
77. 자연이 우리들의 스승이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that nature is our teacher.”
78. 가장 큰 축복이 자비심이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.

I would read this seventy-eighth affirmation as: “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that the greatest blessing is compassion.”

This seems a little bit cliche, and I have a hard time contextualizing (conceptualizing) “blessing” – that’s a strictly athiest’s handicap, I realize. By “cliche,” perhaps all I mean is that it doesn’t seem very insightful. Also, I may prefer translating 자비심 as “sympathy” or even “empathy” over the word compassion.

The sun is out. It de-motivates me, because it means it will be beastly hot out (since it will do nothing to abate the humidity). I was planning on taking a day trip somewhere, today, but seeing that blue sky and sun makes me think I’m happier with just cuddling up next to my airconditioner. I know that’s a world-fleeing cop-out.  What can I offer in my defense?

I went out to dinner with coworkers after work on Friday, and I think I finally managed to convey to them just how boring a person I really am. I’m not sure if this is a relief, or just depressing.

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Caveat: At least I’m wanted

My student, Dong-uk, drew this portrait of me last night, during class, and presented it to me proudly. The likeness is disturbing.

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The text he wrote:

WANTED
Jared Way (AKA 왜저래 [wae-jeo-rae = “what the heck?” but very similar to my name in Korean order – a running gag])
A little bit alchol [hmm really? looks like it, but … not accurate, I swear]
Doesn’t smoke
K a r m a E n g l i s h A c a d e m y
1,000,000,000$

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Caveat: 가르친다는 것은 오직 희망만을 얘기하는 것이다

Each Thursday there is a little staff meeting at work. It’s generally in Korean, so I don’t worry too much about paying attention, as I know that if some point or aspect is important and relevant to me in particular, someone will make sure I’ve understood. Not to mention the fact that the meeting always starts at around 3:30, which is when I actually have a class to go teach.

On the little meeting agendas that the boss makes and hands out, he is fond of putting these little pep-talks or aphorisms or proverbs.  For some reason, I more-or-less understood the one on yesterday’s. It said: “가르친다는 것은 오직 희망만을 얘기하는 것이다.” Roughly, it means: “Teaching is nothing more than talking about [or encouraging] hope.” I thought it was a nice thought.

Yesterday was one of those days when I’m reminded of why I have decided that teaching is the right sort of job for me. It was one of those days when I start grumpy and end happy. It’s the only job I’ve ever had where it often (though, obviously, not always) works that way.

I was feeling really frustrated and down after yesterday, and after sleeping badly, and feeling unhealthy and all that, besides. Not to mention the fact that some charmless woman on the street accidentally wacked me in the face with her umbrella on the way to work.

But then I had 6 hours of good classes.  All strung along in a row.  Each different, but each positive or successful in some small way. Connecting with kids, or having fun, or joking around, or making a point and being taken seriously.

So by the end of the day, I still felt tired, but I felt positive about my work, anyway. My boss asked me if I agreed with his little aphorism, mentioned above. “Well, not completely,” I extemporized.

“You always have to argue,” he joked, shaking his head in false exasperation. It’s a bit of a running gag, I suppose. It’s one way in which I am utterly, characteristically un-Korean, this business of declaring my differing opinion to my coworkers or boss. Korean culture is full of agreement and (verbal) harmony and lip service and (feigned) consensus. The proper Korean answer to his question would be, “Yes, boss.”

A couple of the highlights from the students.

A girl named Eun-sol (who I don’t actually have for a class right now) saw me in the hall between classes and when I said “How are you?” she said, triumphantly, “I’m not hungry.” Normally, this would be a non-sequitur, but with Eun-sol, it made perfect sense, and was funny. Eun-sol is always hungry. And I joke with her about it. So she was reporting a major accomplishment, or life-milestone, in not being hungry. It seems small, but these are the “real communicative moments” that make language-teaching seem interesting, to me.

Later, in another lowish-level class, a we had read a passage about history. Some European war that is utterly contextless and meaningless to these Korean kids, who aren’t even exposed to non-Asian history or social studies in the public school curriculum until sometime in high school. So after talking about it a little bit, I asked what seemed a not-too-difficult question: when was the war? The date was right in the passage, on the page in front of them – one of them was bound to figure it out. But the silence was epic. And it lasted a long time, against further hintings and promptings. Finally a boy named Hyeong-uk tentatively raised his hand. Excitedly, I called on him, and repeated the question, “when was the war?”

“Past,” he answered, deadpan.

pictureI had to laugh, of course. This was brilliant, both in being indisputably correct and yet utterly devoid of useful information. I couldn’t stop chuckling about it, for the rest of the class, in fact. Sometimes when students say exceptionally clever, funny things, I will write them on the board, in a corner, so we can admire them. That’s what I did.

Working in an environment where everyone has a cellphone with a camera, it’s inevitable that students take pictures of you, I suppose. I got this picture (at right) attacthed to a text message the other day. It’s kind of small format – but it’s a montage of four candidish pictures of me taken with a cell phone, and the word “smile” in the middle.

What is this, an homage? Some kid killing time, I guess. I’m glad I make them think of smiling, right?

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Caveat: Ham Rove and Sauron

I was really exhausted after work yesterday. We’re getting a lot of new students, which is a typical part of the hagwon business cycle, since it’s summer vacation and parents are looking for ways to offload their kids – what better way than to enroll them in a hagwon or three?  But anyway… I don’t have much to say. New students are a lot of work, mostly because of the shambolic curriculum, meaning that each new student requires a great deal of photocopying of materials and “catch-up” counselling. One thing I really appreciated at LBridge, in retrospect, was how smoothly incoming students were integrated into the tightly programmed curriculum. Because all the teachers followed the same texts, in the same pattern, on a published (via website) schedule, new students and the intake (front-desk) people could find out where the student should be and what materials they needed before they even came to class. Often, kids would show up for their first class already having done the homework, even.

OK – it’s easy to wax nostalgic for previous experiences – there were things that made LBridge a terrible place to work, too. So each place has its positives and negatives, right? I’m going through one of those inadequate-feeling phases with work, I suppose.

I was watching Colbert, thought this was very funny: he’s interviewing “Ham Rove” – a stand-in for Karl Rove. Note that’s a Sauron figurine behind Ham Rove to the far right. I think Sauron is Obama. Colbert definitely has his funny moments.

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Caveat: 77) 자연이 우리들의 스승이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다

“I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that nature is our teacher.”

This is #77 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).


75. 자연에 순응하면 몸과 마음이 편안하다는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the tranquility of body and mind as they accommodate [the demands of] nature.”
76. 자연이 생명 순환의 법칙이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that nature follows the law of life cycles.”
77. 자연이 우리들의 스승이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.

I would read this seventy-seventh affirmation as: “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that nature is our teacher.”

There are pigeons that keep crashing into my windows. What are they trying to teach me?

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Caveat: Dreaming the Dialectic

I was dreaming…

that I was trying to explain “the dialectic” to someone. I said that it’s like if you are showing how thinking about a story about a girl isn’t really about a girl. I pulled up an image of a girl, a kind of black-and-white, 1950’s photograph of a rather nondescript girl. “This girl looks like… just a girl. But the dialectic is realizing that something else is actually going on,” I explained.

I said to my invisible interlocutor, “It’s about that moment when you wake up.”

And then I woke up. It was perhaps 11 pm. I had fallen asleep with my face in the book – very much not my tendency or habit, these days. I had fallen asleep, while studying.

This was a former character trait of mine; I was reprising it from years ago: it’s from old, academic years. It developed due to the inevitable sleep deprivations of graduate school, perhaps.

The air around me was close and thick and hot – my window was open, but the earlier rain had stopped. The florescent light, on in the apartment directly across the alley from mine, seemed extraordinarily, unnaturally bright.  It was shining rudely out and illuminating all the unmovingness outside with its overconfident yet highly limited repertoire of wavelengths. I listened to the sounds of the city, vague echoes of a woman singing, buses trundling past on the Jungang-no. I lay very still.

And I lay there, breathing a little bit fast, feeling like I was on the edge of understanding. I felt surprised at how I could have just woken myself up from a dream by suggesting, in the dream, that I could reach a moment of understanding at the moment of waking up. Really, it was nothing short of startling myself awake by confronting the concept of waking up.

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The clear image of that story about the girl, from the dream, was falling apart very quickly, like a wet piece of tissue paper.  I’m not sure it was important, though. It didn’t feel important, at all, to what had just happened.  It was arbitrary, I felt myself thinking. I watched myself thinking….

I tried to visualize a slug walking along the edge of a very sharp knife: it just doesn’t work. Not funny. What if it was a fly, landing on that edge – would it… hurt itself? I was momentarily embedded in the digression of a Haruki Murakami novel. I’d been working on digressions earlier in the day – my own writing.  Polishing a few novelistic digressions, like so much antique silverware – wishing they were whales.

I feel like this strange, crystaline moment hasn’t brought me one iota closer to understanding the dialectic; but it was nevertheless a very surprising, lucid dream. It was like an epiphany devoid of epiphanic content. Epiphany for epiphany’s sake.

One might ask, why was I dreaming definitions of the dialectic? The answer is not so obscure… I’d fallen asleep reading a recently purchased book: Valences of the Dialectic, by Fredric Jameson. I’m barely to page 15, in the first chapter, which bears the title, “Three names of the dialectic.”  How about that Diego Rivera on the cover, by the way?

I’ll get back to you if I figure it out. I might not figure it out, though. I’ve not made much progress with feeling comfortable with this essential philosphical tool, over the years. Perhaps I’ve always invested too much in it. Perhaps, with Karl Popper, I am at core uncomfortable with the seeming solution-in-contradiction. But I’m particularly drawn to it as it is so ancient, so inherent – it’s one of the underlying intellectual tools that unifies Eastern and Western philosohpy. It is possibly something innate… even structural, a la Chomsky’s “language faculty.” A dialectical instinct? The insight presented by the dream, if any, is that there exists the possibility of a sort of recursive definition of dialectical practice.

Hmm… recursion as praxis? That’s a whole other post, maybe.

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Caveat: holding up the sky

I needed to get out of the house yesterday. I took a long walk – along a route I took before… some years ago. I took the subway into the city and got off at Oksu, on the north bank of the rain-swollen Han River.  I walked across the bridge into Apgujeong. From there I went to Gangnam, and after stopping at my favorite bookstore, I ended up at GyoDae (University of Education). I walked maybe 7 or 8 km. It was heavily overcast but it wasn’t raining. It was kind of steamy hot. I took a few pictures.

Looking back down the stairs up to the bridge. The subway runs in the median of the bridge, that’s Oksu station on the right.

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I love the view along the river, here. For some reason it makes me think of Italy – maybe it’s the arches along the river bank and the way the buildings climb the hillside.

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The bridge itself, with its embedded subway tracks and industrial feel, is New Yorkish.

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Apgujeong (and all of Gangnam) is a very high-rent area. I would compare it to New York’s Upper East Side, LA’s Westwood/Brentwood.

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But there is still the occasional cardboard-carting ajeossi, blocking the forward progress of honking Mercedeses.

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The view at dusk looking east along Teheranno, one of Gangnam’s main drags, just west of its intersection with Gangnamdaero.

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Here is a rather famous recently-constructed building that even had a write-up in the Economist, if I recall correctly. It’s your basic glass-and-steel box skyscraper, right? But it’s wavy. Wiggly. And there’s a giant sculpture of golden hands, holding up the sky, in front – you could stand under the outstretched hands to shelter from the rain, for example.

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By the time I was headed home on the subway, it was starting to rain again. Just a sort of humid drizzle. I got home and made some tricolor rotini pasta with olives and pesto (I found jars of pre-made pesto at the Orange Mart across the street).

I did a lot of reading today.

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Caveat: My Life as a Zen Zenoist

Miscellany….

“I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.” – Oscar Wilde

I took an online quiz that told me what kind of philosopher I am. It turns out I’m a stoic – I was linked to Zeno of Citium. The modern meaning of “stoic,” by the way, doesn’t really capture the original nature of the tradition. Here is Seneca, perhaps one of the best known exponents of stoicism in its classical incarnation: “As long as you live, keep learning how to live.” – Lucius Annaeus Seneca.

Here’s an interesting thought: does my stoic orientation, combined with my sometime pursuit of mahayana meditation, make me a zen zenoist? Or maybe a follower of Zeno is a “zenist”?

Here is a vaguely arty photograph I took in 1983, of the mountains east of Eureka (near Kneeland, I think).

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Caveat: Faith-Based-Atheist

I’m a “faith-based atheist.”

What in the world is that?

It means that, unlike an agnostic, I’m certain about god: specifically, that there isn’t one. But such certainty isn’t something that submits to any kind of objective proof: just as the religious person must accept the existence of his or her god(s) as a matter of faith, so must the true atheist rely on belief over material evidence – after all, how do you prove god doesn’t exist? Anything short of this standard-of-proof makes one an agnostic, not an atheist.

What’s still more difficult, is to strive for an ethical existence when the most commonly invoked “cause” (or source) of human ethics (namely, the alleged “higher powers”) have been unequivocally rejected. It seems to me that the only ethical atheist is one who accepts that his or her belief is indeed just that – a belief, not a demonstrated “fact.”

Atheists who assert some kind of exceptionalism for their own beliefs vis-a-vis the beliefs of non-atheists strike me as hypocritical. I’m profoundly uncomfortable with many atheists – of the secular-humanist stripe – who attempt to position themselves as rationalists – I think it’s not only philosophically perilous but ultimately unethical due to this inherent hypocrisy.

Despite this, I’m also displeased with the tendency of humanists (again, i.e. “secular humanists”) to categorically place human beings in the center of things. Such pre- (or even anti-) Copernican posturing is just as irrational as the traditional, god-centered systems they presume to criticize – in my judgement, anyway.

With the categorical rejection of the transcendental and god-centric, I believe that  there must come a similarly vehement rejection of the anthropocentric. So… but what’s left, then?

Let me get back to you on that one. Does this make me sound like a nihilist? This is a possibility.  I’m most comfortable with a sort of aesthetic take on the whole matter, a la Robinson Jeffers Inhumanism.  But that doesn’t really resolve the epistemological issues – which are what seem to most interest me.

Another issue is how I can reconcile my committed atheism with my frequent self-description as a “Buddhist.” However, one has to understand that Buddhism, in most conceptions, is doctrinally agnostic with respect to the theist question. To attempt to paraphrase Gautama Siddhartha, as I have understood it: when asked about the existence of deities or God, he reportedly answered that, like everything else, it was both true and not true. Thus there is room within Buddhism for both atheists and theists, as well as whatever falls in between. 

[Last updated 2015-10-08]

Caveat: Life-since-high-school

Lately, because of facebook, I’ve been “reconnecting” with people I haven’t interacted with or known about for up to 25 years. People from high school!  Jeannine, Kray, Richard…. People from elementary school! Tammy. People from the Mexico City time! Aura, Vlady.

Anyway, questions crop up:  Didn’t you go to university in Missouri? (No, it was Minnesota). I heard you joined the Army? (Yes). Is it true you were married? (Yes). And then you got divorced? (Um, not exactly – separated-then-widowed).

Being a fundamentally lazy person, I have decided to answer a whole pile of these questions at once. I’ve created a year-by-year timeline of my life-since-high-school. Each year has 2 to 6 telegraphic sentences summarizing what I recall as the salient aspects of that year.

I can now point interested people to it – if they’re interested. More me out there, for all the world to see: I believe in transparency – it cleanses the soul.

[UPDATE 2021-05-20: While doing some link-rot maintenance, it came to my attention that I posted almost exactly this blog-post 2 years before, here. Anyway, the below timeline is out-of-date by about a decade, now, and it’s long been superceded by my Year-In-Six-Sentences category.]

Timeline

  • 1983. I graduate from Arcata High, Arcata California. My summer internship at a civil engineering office turns me off of the idea of pursuing engineering, careerwise. I walked a lot in high school – mostly in the fog.  I start college at Macalester College, St Paul, Minnesota – the main reason for my choice of Macalester: it’s very far away from home. I meet my best friend Bob on day one (he is still my best friend 25 years later).
  • 1984. I change my declared major from math to religious studies – not out of any sense of religiosity, but because I’m looking for answers, and because a math professor left my self-confidence in ruins. I work for Mondale Campaign that summer.
  • 1985. I study art history in Paris in January term. By May, however, alcohol and drug issues have caused me to drop out of college. I live in my car, first passing through Duluth and Ottawa, and then up and down the East Coast (mostly Boston, New York City, with a week in New Orleans). By fall, I’m living a few blocks from Barack Obama (not that I, like, know him or anything) on Chicago’s South Side, and working in a hardware store. My unabiding love for instant ramen is formed during this period.
  • 1986. I travel to Mexico and end up with a job at Casa de los Amigos, a Quaker meetinghouse / leftist hostel in Mexico City. I travel to El Salvador for a few weeks in the fall, and get to see a civil war up close and personal.
  • 1987. After a year working in Mexico City, I travel (somewhat aimlessly) with a friend by horseback in the mountains of Michoacan (southwestern Mexico). I meet lots of interesting people, including many indians, hippies, a draft dodger or two, and a dangerous, drunk, angry man with a gun. That shoots bullets.  Eventually, I return to Minnesota.
  • 1988. I enroll at the University of Minnesota (having forfeited my scholarship at Macalester by dropping out in 85).  My declared major is computer science, but soon changes to linguistics. I dabble in languages: Portuguese, Medieval Welsh, Japanese, Russian, Ancient Sumerian, Georgian (Kartuli). I work hard at a book bindery (book-making factory). I study hard. Bob and Mark are my housemates, among others.
  • 1989. I graduate (cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa) from the Univ of Minnesota (Twin Cities), despite the “lost semester” from Spring of 85 at Macalaster on my transcript. My major: Llinguistics; minor: Computer Science; undeclared minors: Spanish, Botany.  I return to Mexico, spend 2 months in Guatemala, and 2 weeks in Cuba. I become very sick.  Return to Humboldt County.
  • 1990. I’ve ended up in Eureka, somehow – broke and directionless. I deal with this directionlessness by enlisting in the U.S. Army, as a truck mechanic. I complete my training in South Carolina, and narrowly miss getting sent to Kuwait for the first Gulf War. I end up in South Korea on December 28th.
  • 1991. I am stationed at Camp Edwards, Geumcheon (about 7 km from my current home) – 296th Support Battalion, 2nd Infantry Division. I drive a giant camo green tow truck (named Rocinante) around northwest Gyeonggi province. I am a competent mechanic, but an indifferent soldier. The Army is downsizing in the wake of the end of the cold war, and when it’s offered, I grab honorable “early out”discharge.
  • 1992. I live in Pasadena (in the house my great grandfather built around 1910), taking art classes and trying to learn Arabic. I’m a bit aimless on the job front – I remember working as a temp at a Robinsons May department store warehouse. I move back to Minnesota, and Bob and I become housemates again. I start working in a bookstore. I meet Michelle and Jeffrey (her son, who is 5 at this time).
  • 1993. I do graduate-level coursework in Spanish Literature and Literary and Cultural Criticism (Lit-Crit), as well as the Dakota (Native American Great Plains) Language, at the University of Minnesota – tuition is cheap because I’m an alum. I work in a bookstore. At some point, during an initially platonic camping trip on Michigan’s U.P., Michelle and I begin dating.
  • 1994. Michelle and I move in together. Then I spend 6 months studying the Mapuche (Native American Patagonian) Language in Valdivia, Chile, and I get to see Buenos Aires, Tierra del Fuego, Patagonia, Uruguay, etc. I’m back in Minnesota with Michelle and Jeffrey for Christmas.
  • 1995. I work nights for UPS to save up money (which means I can say I’ve been a card-carrying Teamster), and I apply to graduate schools.  My first choice is UCLA, but I start at the University of Pennsylvania in August, in Department of Romance Languages, because of Michelle’s eventual East Coast job prospects.
  • 1996. Work very, very hard at Penn., teaching Spanish to lazy, over-privileged Ivy League undergrads and taking qualifying exams. Michelle and I get married in a pizza joint in Minneapolis over the summer (the Judge came on a motorcycle). Michelle and Jeffrey then join me in Philadelphia, after she graduates in Chemical Engineering from the University of Minnesota.
  • 1997. I resign from the graduate program at Penn, very unhappy with departmental politics. I get to try to be a “soccer dad” with Jeffrey for several months, while Michelle puts in ungodly hours with Merck, Inc., in her new job as a chemical engineer. I start teaching high school Spanish and Social Studies that fall, with an ungodly commute to Moorestown, New Jersey. Neither Michelle nor I particularly like living in suburban Philadelphia.
  • 1998. Things begin to break down with Michelle. I’m not doing very well with it. In August, we decide on a “trial seperation,” but I’m not able to handle this well, and by September, I’ve run off (somewhat irresponsibly, I realize) to stay on my uncle Arthur’s land in Alaska. I cut trees and brush with a chainsaw (in the rain), and shovel gravel (in the rain), and write (in a white van, in the rain). In November, I give up on Alaska and on solitude, and I go to LA to stay with my father, who has recently divorced my stepmother, who I have sometimes idolized. This is a very bad period for me. Closing out the year with a bang, I attempt suicide while parked alongside the Pacific Coast Highway north of San Simeon, and nearly succeed.  Time-in-hospital (the parallels with Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance are, um, disconcerting).
  • 1999. I begin working at ARAMARK Corporation in Burbank, as a temp in the finance department. I prove sufficiently competent that they offer me a permanent position. Michelle and I occasionally discuss getting back together (long distance, her still in Philly and me in L.A. (well, Burbank)), but we both clearly have difficult-to resolve “issues.”
  • 2000. Michelle commits suicide in June: “So there!” I work hard at ARAMARK.
  • 2001. I migrate from the finance department at ARAMARK into the IT department, working as a programmer.
  • 2002. I rent a horrible apartment in North Hollywood. But work is going well – workaholically, in fact.
  • 2003. I migrate again, at ARAMARK, into the Sales and Marketing department. I develop the infamous National Accounts Data Analysis intranet site for my company, basically on my own, and it’s a huge hit. I am promoted and recognized for this. Failure in life… success in business. I move into the tiny house next to my dad’s on the hill in Highland Park. I take my first trip to Australia to visit my mother.
  • 2004. I solve some amazing technical challenges for the Sales department, but I’ve created bad blood with my former colleagues in the IT department. Company politics get nasty. I resign in December. But, in 5 years, I’d managed to get promoted 4 times and quadruple my original salary.
  • 2005. I spend 6 weeks in Europe, 2 of them with bestfriend Bob who is there for an audition in Utrecht. I fall in love with Lisbon. I then come back to LA and start a new job with HealthSmart Pacific as a Database Administrator and Applications Designer. I move to Long Beach, but I end up commuting part time to Orange County.  I hate commuting, even though driving for 45 minutes along the Pacific Coast Highway each way is oddly resonant.
  • 2006. I put in several months of ungodly 80-100 hour work weeks. So I resign, and try to succeed as an independent database consultant.  My heart’s not in it. I take a second trip to Australia. I move back to Minneapolis. I find a wonderful apartment near Lake Calhoun in Uptown.
  • 2007. Some interesting projects, but the computer gig is losing its lustre. I decide to return to teaching – I have overcome my prior financial difficulties. Jeffrey has started college, and the trust fund I’d created for him will cover costs, so I’m free, financially. I apply to overseas jobs. I start teaching at “Tomorrow School” in Ilsan, Gyeonggi, South Korea, in September.
  • 2008. Tomorrow School gets taken over by LinguaForum, which in turn gets taken over by L-Bridge. I spend a week in Australia with my mother in August – with a brief visit to Hong Kong.
  • 2009. I continue at L-Bridge until September. I love teaching elementary-age kids. Am I happy? Not completely. But I’m happier than during most of the above. So, all things being relative, it seems like a good “career.”  But nevertheless, since more than a few days’ vacation is unheard of in the hagwon biz, I decide I need to “check in” back in the U.S., so I resign my job (with the idea of re-taking it, or something similar, upon return) and go back to the U.S. for a few months.  I put 10000 miles on my pickup truck in 3 months, and then sell it.  I spend 10 days at a Buddhist Monastery outside Chicago.
  • 2010. I return to Korea, but the job market isn’t what I’d hoped.  I enroll full-time in a Korean language school, and hunker down for a long-term job search, living at a cheap hostel in Suwon (south of Seoul).  I travel to Japan (Kyushu) in April, and start a new job at Hongnong Elementary (public school) in rural Jeollanam Province, at the end of that month.  I really like being an elementary school teacher, and I make a lot of friends among my Korean co-workers, but my principal (boss) is xenophobic (hates foreigners) and the housing situation is unstable (4 different apartments over a 1 year contract).
  • 2011.  I let my contract at Hongnong run out, and with some sadness, I say good-bye to Yeonggwang County and return to Ilsan.  I work at Karma Academy.  I have a more stable housing situation (like!) and fewer elementary students (not like!).

[Last updated 2011-07-31]

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Caveat: 76) 자연이 생명 순환의 법칙이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다

“I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that nature follows the law of life cycles.”

This is #76 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).


74. 무지개의 황홀함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the ecstacy of rainbows.”
75. 자연에 순응하면 몸과 마음이 편안하다는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the tranquility of body and mind as they accommodate [the demands of] nature.”
76. 자연이 생명 순환의 법칙이라는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.

I would read this seventy-sixth affirmation as: “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware that nature follows the law of life cycles.”

Once again, I took some liberties in trying to translate this.  There’s no word “follows” in the above – the phrase is, literally, roughly something like “…become aware of [the fact] that nature is a law of life cycle(s).”  The nominalized copula suffix -이라는 것- fulfills the “[the fact] that… is” role, but I think “follows” captures the meaning better in English.  I’m just pleased I was even able to recognize and more or less understand the convoluted use of the copula – this is so common in Korean but I’m still really bad at recognizing what’s going on.

pictureI’ve decided to dedicate my little “holiday” to being eremetic and trying to “study”: study Korean, study my various literary pursuits, study the monkey mind (aka trying to meditate).

My friends and coworkers no doubt would find this a stunningly boring way to spend a holiday, but I am so often a rather unsocial person, and I’ve reached a sort of general acceptance and possibly even comfort level (meaning a most-of-the-time acceptance, and ambivalent comfort level, I suppose) with my mostly solitary nature.

I’m not sure if this “solitary nature” is part of the “nature” referred to above in the affirmation.

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Caveat: Old School

Working at my current hagwon is definitely “old school” Korea, in some ways. I suppose what I mean is that it’s a small business, where the human relationships are what dominate the employer-employee interactions, as opposed to the pseudo-professional character of the big chain hagwon (such as I experienced at LBridge) or the bureaucratic-but-hopefully-benign neglect that seems to reign in public schools (such as I experienced at Hongong Chodeung – minus the benignity).

pictureThis was underscored for me last night. Our hagwon is going to have a short little couple-of-days-vacation (not because it wants to – it’s a new provincial-level regulation that’s being forced on all the hagwon industry, apparently). Curt gave a little speech thanking all the hard work from the teachers and staff (July has been a tough month, the combination of increased class offerings and enrollment due to summer vacation, combined with Grace being on her long vacation meaning we’re short one teacher).

Then he handed out envelopes of cash.

I suppose there might be, um, er, “tax reasons” for handing out envelopes of cash, too – as opposed to simply paying higher salaries. But there’s nothing like two crisp gold-colored bills to make one feel appreciated, eh? The note reads “즐거운 휴가 되세요^^ 감사합니다.” [Have a pleasant holiday^^ Thank you.] Actually, I knew Curt did things like this – I’ve witnessed him doing it before, but had never been on the receiving end of it up until now.

Tangentially, below is a picture from the bathroom window at work. It was raining, and something in the view of all the apartment tower blocks seemed stark yet somehow iconic of life in high-density Ilsan. Remember, although this looks like something an American would call “housing projects,” in Korea this is upper-middle class. Everyone has a car in the underground parking garages. All the kids want to go to Harvard or Oxford or Yonsei or KAIST. One thing that is striking for me, about Ilsan, is that, because it’s one of the “oldest” of the 신도시 [sin-do-si = “New City”], it is lushly populated by large, healthy trees: apartment towers in a forest.

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Caveat: Super-Linear

Returning, once again, to the theme of densities and cities and sustainability, I saw the following TED video (if you’re not familiar with TED, it’s worth going and looking around). I’ll let the guy do the talking.

[UPDATE: the link to the TED talk rotted… and I don’t even know what the title was. It’s unrecoverable knowledge. Yay, internet!]

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Caveat: Hace 25 años

I am one of those people who’s a little bit distrustful of facebook. I worry about how it “owns” my social network. It’s partly why I mostly stick to posting and maintaining this blog, instead, where I more explicitly control the content and can curate its exposure to the world.

Having said that, facebook has proved an amazing experience from the standpoint of how it makes possible the renovation of old friendships, the rediscovery of long-lost friends and acquaintances. The other day I got a message and a “friend request” from someone I hadn’t heard from in 25 years – she’d been a good friend of mine when I lived in Mexico City. She’d invited me to meet her family and relatives in El Salvador, too, and I had gone in early September, 1986 – at the height of the civil war there. I remember going through army and guerrilla checkpoints, and the eerie normalcy of helicopter gunships flying overhead and truckloads of armed men racing down the highways.

She’d been a student of mine (although older than me) in my volunteer English class (that I gave at my workplace), but because of our friendship, she ultimately became one of my most important Spanish teachers. Even today, I would say some of the verbal “tics” of my colloquial Spanish have recognizable echoes of her use of the language.

I suppose I’m thinking of this in part because that summer and fall in Mexico City were the point in time when I feel I reached that “critical mass” of linguistic fluency. And it happened so quickly. And my current efforts to learn Korean are clearly hampered in part by the lack of any such parallel “teaching” friendship in my current life’s constellations.

Here is a picture, which I scanned some years ago, showing me and her and some of her relatives on the pier in La Libertad, El Salvador. I am standing a bit off to the side on the left, looking a little bit dazed (which was a frequent expression for me during that strange, immersive, whirlwind trip). I think it’s funny that my hairstyle looks like a Korean pop-star’s or something. Sorry that the picture is pretty poor resolution – it is ancient and scanned.

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Caveat: 75) 자연에 순응하면 몸과 마음이 편안하다는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다

“I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the tranquility of body and mind as they accommodate [the demands of] nature.”

This is #75 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).


73. 새싹들의 강인함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the tenacity of a sprouting plant.”
74. 무지개의 황홀함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the ecstacy of rainbows.”
75. 자연에 순응하면 몸과 마음이 편안하다는 것을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.

I would read this seventy-fifth affirmation as: “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the tranquility of body and mind as they accommodate [the demands of] nature.”

Not feeling particular tranquility lately.

There were some nice thunderstorms yesterday and last night.

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Caveat: Hagwon Crunchmode

I've definitely returned to hagwon work – I put in 11 hours yesterday.  It's going to be a long week.

But then, as people know, I have workaholic tendencies, given the right motivational structures.  The public school job was structured in such a way that workaholism was essentially irrelevant if not downright impossible, and all those idle hours took a weird kind of toll on my psyche, maybe.  I seem to seek out and/or prefer the psychic toll exacted by working too much over that correlated with working too little.   Is this virtue?  I actually don't think so.  It's escapism and reality-avoidance, mostly.  Just like those years in Burbank, the 80 hour weeks.  The year in Long Beach / Newport Beach took it a step too far, and the 100 hour workweek was unsustainable. 

OK, this is rambling and not going anywhere and vaguely self-hating.  Whatever.

Caveat: Trolleyology Revisited

pictureA few years back I discovered trolleyology.

Well, I already knew about trolleyology, but I didn’t know that was what it was called.  Recently, I ran across it again.  Trolleyology is the philosophical practice of setting up hypothetical ethical conundrums involving out-of-control trolleys racing down tracks about to kill oddly helpless innocent bystanders.  Just as an example, from my recent re-encounter with them (linked above):

A runaway trolley is coming down the track. It is headed towards five people who cannot get out of its way. A passerby realizes that if he pushes a nearby fat man onto the tracks his bulk will stop the trolley before it hits the five, though the fat man himself will be killed.

The question being:  is it right or wrong to sacrifice the fat man to save the five?  There’s another conundrum here, far too complicated and full of philosophers’ inside jokesThe picture (above right) shows the Green Line trolley at 43rd Street along Baltimore Avenue, half a block from my apartment where I lived in West Philadelphia in 1995, when I was starting graduate school.  Not shown in the picture:  five helpless innocents just out view to the left, down the hill, tied to the tracks – just another day in West Philly, after all.

Caveat: Dream Deferred

 

Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore–
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

– by Langston Hughes

I don't know. My dreams are feeling deferred, today. So I wondered.

Caveat: 74) 무지개의 황홀함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다

“I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the ecstasy of rainbows.”

This is #74 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).


72. 시냇물 소리의 시원함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the brightness of a running brook’s sound.”
73. 새싹들의 강인함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the tenacity of a sprouting plant.”
74. 무지개의 황홀함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.

I would read this seventy-fourth affirmation as: “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the ecstasy of rainbows.”

That sounds like it should be a poem. 

I have been doing nothing but working. I didn’t see a rainbow.

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Caveat: Waiting for the Night

What I'm listening to right now.

Depeche Mode – Waiting for the Night.  You know how a particular piece of music gets associated with a place?  This track is forever linked in my mind with the Golden State Freeway (I-5) between Burbank and Glendale – the start of my commute home from work for several years.

Caveat: Pushing; Heartless; Nerd-Angst.

I’m struggling with the fact that I’m actually enjoying work more, now that I’m teaching 35 class-hours a week. It’s because I derive positive energy out of being in the classroom with the kids, whereas I generally find sitting in the staff room dinking around with prep work (or trying to write textbooks) depressing and dull. But there’s a burnout aspect out of pushing this hard, too – it’s fulfilling but not sustainable, maybe. I don’t know.

I’m doing OK – I’m doing almost nothing aside from working, lately. I’ve set aside my two main hobbies: fiction and/or poetry writing, and trying to study Korean. I haven’t been jogging every evening like I was before this hard push at work, too. Good habits die so easily, don’t they? I had barely got the thing off the ground, and all it took was a few nights of “oh-I’m-too-tired.” Well.

What I’m listening to right now.

The Fray – Cover of Kanye West’s “Heartless.” I like the video a lot too – talk about awesome animation capturing teen nerd-angst.

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Caveat: 73) 새싹들의 강인함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다

“I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the tenacity of a sprouting plant.”

This is #73 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).


71. 바람 소리의 평화로움을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the peacefulness of the wind.”
72. 시냇물 소리의 시원함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the brightness of a running brook’s sound.”
73. 새싹들의 강인함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.

I would read this seventy-third affirmation as: “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the tenacity of a sprouting plant.”

I need more tenacity.

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