but this i know with all my heart -- His wounds have paid my ransom
"Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy." Proverbs 31:8-9 (NIV)
Estimated average time to read this post: three minutes (plus one embedded video two minutes in length).
September has always been a happy month, what with the return of football (a weekly childhood ritual with my father), the beginning of school (yes, I've had the same Snoopy pencil case for the better part of two decades) and my birthday (my gosh, I am now thirty-something). Add to that list of Fall rituals the wonderful world of television. Don't get me wrong -- my dear Korean parents made sure I watched little of it growing up, but even so, I have nothing but the fondest memories of rushing home from Los Paseos Elementary School on a Friday afternoon and finishing all my homework so I could watch Perfect Strangers and Full House (all part of ABC's TGIF lineup). Over the years, as the schoolwork increased, TV went away, even as ABC dismantled my childhood (Friday nights on ABC now consist of Supernanny and Wife Swap and occasional encores of Grey's Anatomy and Desperate Housewives). The movies stuck with me, but committing to following a weekly series -- even a sitcom -- seemed overwhelming at a time of problem sets, discussion papers, and the joys of differentiating between a fee simple determinable, a fee simple on condition subsequent, and a fee simple subject to an executory interest. As for K-dramas? Fuggedaboutit.
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So it was with no small measure of joy that as I returned to active duty, working life and a structured schedule, I found myself on the average weekday evening with more time than I remembered having in a decade or two. And while I have yet to be sucked into Community, Glee, Modern Family, or any of the other shows foisted upon me by Jinna, I have to confess that one of my simplest pleasures these days is coming home after a long day and knocking back a cold one (a Coke with ice, that is) as I fire up the latest episode of 30 Rock (though Tina Fey's schtick is getting repetitive), How I Met Your Mother (which needs to end real soon) or The Office (which should've ended after Season 3). September has always been a happy month -- with the Fall upon us, my favorite shows have returned.
I took a break this morning from planning the communications architecture for the invasion of an undisclosed country (for work, of course), and ate my Grape Nuts whilst watching the season premiere of The Office. Pure joy:
Michael Scott, we're gonna miss you.
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As for next September, it's Southern California or Afghanistan. Woot!
Estimated average time to read this post: three minutes (plus one embedded video two minutes in length). For Facebook users: link to the original post found here.
I am stubborn about many things (my persistence with snail-mail, my refusal to abandon Yahoo! and my insistence on watching the train wreck that is now "The Office" come to mind....) yet it is pretty clear to all of you remaining readers (all two of you) that this experiment that is a weekly weblog has failed. Sigh. My dear Xanga -- we had a good run from Fall 2006 to Summer 2007. But all good things must come to an end.
...though not completely! Like my ever hilarious knee-slapper about the pirate that walks into an Irish bar, this weblog will continue to hang around ever so annoyingly endearingly -- am just dropping the "weekly" from the description, and will instead just pop in to share (what I can't cram into a status update) when the mood strikes. Like Barney Stinson.
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Case in point: finally sat down and watched (500) Days of Summer. Wow. Haunting, endearing, achingly honest, hopelessly romantic yet realistic all the same -- haven't been struck like a movie like this in a long time.
And has there ever been a more exuberant, earnest, and ebullient expression of beginnings depicted on film?
I didn't think so.
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77 days of summer left...! It's gonna be a good year.
Not part of my "weekly weblog" (though all videos lost when my YouTube account was shutdown have since been re-uploaded/embedded in past posts), but just wanted to share this in light of Michael Jackson's sudden death. Enjoy -- the King of Pop's first performance of the moonwalk at Motown 25 in 1983 (for FB users, link to video here):
Nearly two years ago I posted on Pavarotti's passing. This one effects me just a bit more -- Thriller was the first cassette tape I owned; the kids on my block made a MJ music video for an MTV contest; my mom once walked in on me dancing (very badly) to Bad. Say what you will about his personal life (and there's a lot to be said) -- the man was a musical genius. I'd be hard pressed to find Wyclef Jean and Miley Cyrus agreeing about anything, but there you go.
Going to remember MJ for who he once was and what he meant to my childhood, and not for the bizarre anomaly that he later became.
Not part of my weekly weblog, but just had to get this off my chest. For Facebook users, link to the original post here.
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The Honorable Betty Brown Texas State Representative, District 4 108 South Pinkerton, Suite 105 Athens, TX 75751
To Representative Betty Brown,
As an Asian-American, Marine Officer and US citizen, I was bemused, bothered and bewildered to read your comments this morning in the Houston Chronicle recommending that the voters of Chinese descent in your district adopt names that are "easier for Americans to deal with."
You and your office may believe that the negative reaction to your suggestion is just a case of political correctness run amuck, but I wanted to respectfully suggest that the indignation and outrage vocalized by many are not without merit. In a nutshell, your recommendation did two things: 1. Cheapened the heritage of Asian-Americans 2. Implied that these voters were not American
Our Names Represent Our Heritage
Since our personal and family names are representative of our heritage, it was consequently insulting for you to suggest their abandonment for the expediency of those who are ignorant of and indifferent to our cultural backgrounds. Representative Brown, I wonder if you would have dared make the same suggestion to a group of Polish-Americans? Surely Włodzimierz Krzyżanowski -- whose heroism at Gettysburg helped preserve our great nation -- would've deserved to vote under his given name were he your constituent today. Mr. Krzyżanowski was an American who served his country and just so happened to trace his ancestry to a rich, proud and historic culture. So do I. Asian-Americans -- like all other Americans -- help make this country of ours so great not by ignoring our past, but by weaving our proud heritage into the inclusive tapestry of our collective American culture.
We Asian-Americans Are Indeed "American"
Second, by distinguishing between voters of Chinese descent and other Americans, you strongly implied that the former are not Americans at all. I wonder, then, how you would address Fujio Miyamoto and the mostly Japanese-American servicemen of the 442nd Infantry Regiment -- Americans who fought, bled, and died to rescue the "lost battalion" of Texas National Guardsmen that had been cut-off and surrounded by German forces in October of 1944. To refresh your memory, Mr. Miyamoto was conferred the Distinguished Service Cross for his valor -- second only to the Medal of Honor -- on behalf of a grateful nation. His citation reads:
The President of the United States takes pleasure in presenting the Distinguished Service Cross to Fujio Miyamoto (30105618), Staff Sergeant, U.S. Army, for extraordinary heroism in connection with military operations against an armed enemy while serving with Company K, 3d Battalion, 442d Regimental Combat Team, attached to the 36th Infantry Division, in action against enemy forces on 29 October 1944 near Biffontaine, France. When the forward elements of Sergeant Miyamoto's company were pinned down by fire from an enemy machine gun and supporting snipers, he fearlessly worked his way forward toward the enemy emplacement. While so engaged, he was wounded in the forearm by a sniper, but disdaining medical treatment, he continued to advance until he reached a point 25 yards from the emplacement. Exposing himself in order to get better observation, he opened fire with his sub-machine gun, killed the two gunners and thus neutralized the position. In the 2- hour fire fight which followed, Staff Sergeant Miyamoto accounted for five more of the enemy and refused to be evacuated until the initial objective was reached. Staff Sergeant Miyamoto's intrepid actions, personal bravery and zealous devotion to duty exemplify the highest traditions of the military forces of the United States and reflect great credit upon himself, the 36th Infantry Division, and the United States Army.
One can only speculate if some of the sons and daughters of that rescued Texas National Guard unit are now your constituents. Representative Brown, you dishonor the memory of their saviors -- all of whom were Americans, just like you.
Representative Brown, please understand that your suggestion -- however benign it may have seemed to you -- evokes painful memories of second-tier status and abject racism experienced by many Asian-Americans throughout our nation's history, from the Chinese coolies of 1800s San Francisco to the playground taunts of today. I respectfully urge you to recognize the offense taken by your constituents and Americans everywhere, correct your office's unapologetic tone, and prove your genuine commitment to ending voter disenfranchisement in your district's Asian-American community.
respectfully yours, 1stLt Shim, USMCR
P.S. You'll have to forgive me for peppering this letter with allusions to military history. We jarheads can sometimes be a bit single-minded.
Estimated average time to read this post: six minutes. For Facebook users: link to the original post found here.
Goodness, I had forgotten how much time it took to write a weekly blog. Needless to say, I must postpone until next Sunday the Iraq missive I've been sitting on for nearly two years. Instead, wanted to share with all of you this wonderful "op-ed" from the New York Times that extols the virtues of puns (and reminded me of this post long ago). The piece is hilarious, charming, insightful -- and I'm crushed that I wasn't asked to write it instead (perhaps because I am none of the above....)
The inglorious pun! Dryden called it the “lowest and most groveling kind of wit.” [Ouch] To Ambrose Bierce it was a “form of wit to which wise men stoop and fools aspire.” Universal experience confirms the adage that puns don’t make us laugh, but groan.[Humph -- I laugh!] It is said that Caligula ordered an actor to be roasted alive for a bad pun. (Some believe he was inclined to extremes.)
Addison defined the pun as a “conceit arising from the use of two words that agree in the sound, but differ in the sense.” “Energizer Bunny Arrested! Charged with Battery.” No laugh? Q.E.D.
Puns are the feeblest species of humor because they are ephemeral: whatever comic force they possess never outlasts the split second it takes to resolve the semantic confusion. Most resemble mathematical formulas: clever, perhaps, but hardly occasion for knee-slapping. The worst smack of tawdriness, even indecency, which is why puns, like off-color jokes, are often followed by apologies. Odds are that a restaurant with a punning name — Snacks Fifth Avenue, General Custard’s Last Stand — hasn’t acquired its first Michelin star. [Who cares what Anton Ego thinks? Those restaurant names are BRILLIANT.]
How have the great comic writers regarded puns? Jane Austen puns once, in “Mansfield Park,” and it serves to impeach the moral character of the offender. Mark Twain’s first book, “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County,” enamored reviewers with its punlessness. There are “no contortions of words,” said a London paper. “His fun is entirely dependent upon the inherent humor in his writings.” The 20th century’s finest humorist, P. G. Wodehouse, doesn’t use them.
Shakespeare, however, does. Many are bawdy: puns operate, after all, on double entendre. Yet the poet is guilty less of punning than wordplay, which Elizabethan taste considered more a sign of literary refinement than humor; hence “puns” in seemingly inappropriate places, like a dying Mercutio’s “Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.”
The true punster’s mind cycles through homophones in search of a quip the way small children delight in rhymes or experiment babblingly with language.[Um...guilty.] Accordingly, the least intolerable puns are those that avoid the pun’s essential puerility. Richard Whately, Archbishop of Dublin, was a specialist. He could effortlessly execute the double pun: Noah’s Ark was made of gopher-wood, he would say, but Joan of Arc was maid of Orleans. Some Whately-isms are so complex that they nearly amount to honest jokes: “Why can a man never starve in the Great Desert? Because he can eat the sand which is there. But what brought the sandwiches there? Why, Noah sent Ham, and his descendants mustered and bred.” [I'm in awe.]
Whately shows us that it is the punner himself who gives his art a bad name, by so frequently reaching for the obvious. Nothing vexes so much as a pun on a name, for instance. Yet even these can rise to wit if turned with finesse. Jean Harlow, the platinum-blond star of the 1930s, on being introduced to Lady Margot Asquith, mispronounced her given name to rhyme with “rot.” “My dear, the ‘t’ is silent,” said Asquith, “as in Harlow.” The writer Andrew Lang asked his friend Israel Zangwill if he would take a stand on an issue. Zangwill wrote back: “If you, Lang, will, I. Zangwill.”
Why do puns offend? Charles Lamb, a notorious punster, explained that the pun is “a pistol let off at the ear; not a feather to tickle the intellect.” Surely puns silence conversation before they animate it. [Oh dear. Guilty once more. I've heard more crickets than a bayou frog.] Some stricken with pun-lust sink so far into their infirmity that their minds become trained to lie in wait for words on which to work their wickedness. [I should repent of...pun lust?] They are the scourge of dinner tables and the despised prolongers of office meetings, some letting fly as instinctively as dogs bark and frogs croak, no longer concerned even with drawing applause; they simply can’t help themselves. [Hey, I'm holding back these days....]
I asked a friend of mine, an inveterate punster, whether he punned while on dates. “Sure, I pun on dates,” he replied. “On prunes and figs, too.” [One wonders whether he gets second dates....] And well he might, considering the similitude between puns and fruit flies, both of which die practically the instant they are born, but not before breeding others.
But low as puns may be, they have been known to appeal to the loftiest minds.[Preach it brother!] Samuel Johnson hated puns, but his friend Edmund Burke, whose intellectual powers daunted even Johnson, was notorious for pun-making (e.g., “What is [m]ajest[y], when stripped of its externals, but a jest?”) Still, Burke was conscious of his sin, revealed in an incident recorded in a friend’s journal: “Lord Mulgrave called to Burke one day at our table with a ‘so, Burke, you riot in puns now Johnson’s away.’ This made good sport for my lord and for the company, but Burke changed color and looked like Death.”
With Burkean contrition, I confess that in a Thai restaurant not long ago, following my company’s attempt to order three curry dishes, I suggested that we not get “curried away.” Punning, it seems, like every non-deadly sin, is easier to excuse than to resist.
Joseph Tartakovsky is a student at Fordham Law School.
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Link(s) of the week: Why has there not been more attention paid to these two Asian-American journalists detained in North Korea? Now granted, folks warned them -- I for one would've paid special heed to 천기원 -- so maybe some are thinking Ms. Lee and Ms. Ling got what was coming to them. Even so, I can't help but wonder what would happen if two Jewish-Americans were detained by Hamas in Gaza -- I doubt I would have to search for five minutes at nytimes.com to find a week-old update to their story.
