FamiLee Life

Giant Squids and Octopus :: Koreans eat these things!

You may have read in the New York Times that Japanese researchers for the first time in history captured images of a live giant squid. It's pretty amazing.

Working about 600 miles south of Tokyo off the Bonin Islands, known in Japan as the Ogasawara Islands, they [the researchers] photographed the creature with a robotic camera at a depth of 3,000 feet. During a struggle lasting more than four hours, the animal, about 26 feet long, took the proffered bait and eventually broke free, leaving behind an 18-foot length of tentacle.

On a related note, check out this video footage of a meeting between a giant octopus and a shark.

Given the native intelligence of squid and octopus, I find it all the more fascinating that it's one of the most common and popular snacks for Koreans (and other Asians) -- usually eaten dried and salted. In Korea, it is a delicacy to eat live squid. I've never done it but I've heard from my dad and others that it is quite an experience. Some of you may have seen the episode from the Amazing Race a few years ago in which contestants had to eat live squid while traveling in South Korea. Even after cutting up the squid (or eating baby squid), the key is to chew a lot. Otherwise, the suckers on the tentacles will start to latch onto your mouth, resisting being swallowed! When I return to Korea, eating live squid is on my "to do" list.

One last story about squid, a while back, I had asked my mom about how she and my dad met and if they had dated. She said that they had dated and sometimes would go to movies. I asked if they had popcorn back then and she said that they would eat dried squid as a snack. I made some comment that eating squid must make kissing stinky. To which my mom replied that it didn't matter because they both had eaten the squid, so their breaths were both bad!

Crazy Ping Pong!

Check out this Ping Pong Video. These guys take the game to a whole new level of play. Enough said...simply enjoy.

Happy Valley :: Intersections of Class, Nationality, Gender, and Family

On Sunday afternoon, recovering from my previous night of carousing, I had a late breakfast with Venora and her friends and then she and I went to see Happy Valley, a Theater Mu play production, at Intermedia Arts. I had not heard of this play (written by Aurorae Khoo and directed by Jen Weir) until Holly and Kim raved about it the week before. Here is a synopsis of the play:

Life in Hong Kong for 13-year-old Tuppy and her guardian uncle is a magnificent world of horse racing, chinchillas and make believe. But as the 1997 handover of Hong Kong to mainland China looms, their untraditional family, including her uncle’s new girlfriend and their Filipina maid, must scramble to devise an exit strategy. At once a charming comedy and a complex drama, Happy Valley explores racism between Asian ethnic groups, the struggles of adolescence, and the life changing nature of emigration.

Truth be told, I was not expecting much, but I really was impressed with the play, both stylistically and substantively. The actors all performed their best -- evoking the right emotions to express their predicaments. Moreover, the contemporary topic was a wonderful vehicle to address the intersection of class, nationality, gender, and family life in the context of larger geo-political shifts.

The play was thought provoking and tapped into issues often overlooked and discounted in the Asian/Asian American communities. In particular, I liked the juxtapositioning of characters and situations -- the assimilated Hong Kongese uncle and neice and the fresh off the boat Chinese nationalist new wife, the privileged gentry class being displaced from their home and the Filipina maid who left her poor family to support them, the orphaned neice left behind once again by her uncle and his new wife, each character trying to forge a sense of family but always at the exclusion of another character, the sense of impending loss and the immediate yearnings for what was. In many ways, the play was a study of diaspora and its effects on family life.

I also enjoyed the fact that the emotions were evoked (and not telegraphed), the moral behind the story was subtly told (and not so explicit), and the acting was not over the top caricatures. And as I told many friends afterwards, I was glad that Mu did not produce another traditional, folktale play about Asia that orientalizes the diverse cultures where we all come from. Instead, the play showed the complexity of modern life for Asians, as well as reflecting many of the struggles and challenges of Asian Americans.

The play ends this weekend, so I encourage folks to see it while it's still around.

North Korea: Through My Father's Eyes

Earlier this summer, my father traveled to South Korea and had the opportunity to go on an organized, government sanctioned tour to a mountain resort in North Korea. It was his first trip back to what is North Korea since he fled at the start of the Korean War. That was over 55 years ago. Of course, he was still far from his hometown (which is north of Pyongyang), but I know it meant alot to him just to be on the same soil. Something he has yearned to do since as long as I can remember.

As a child, I remember how he sometimes would flip through this small, worn leather book that had photographs of friends and family in it. I think it was a school yearbook of sorts or a neighborhood directory. At any rate, these were friends and family from back home. He would tell me that this person was a cousin or that person was a school friend. Pining for connection with those who knew him best, while living in a world where oftentimes he felt few knew him at all, including his children who couldn't understand fully his experiences because of different languages, different homelands, and clashing values.

Upon his return to the States, he began to paint scenes from this trip, depicting the landscapes of the homeland he was forced to leave behind as a young man, still in his teens. This made me happy to hear that he was painting again. My father had stopped painting at the end of 2002 after my mother had died. I kept inquiring if he had started painting again but he always said that he was through with it, he had no energy, no motivation. This time, I understood. And as he has begun to paint again, I am able to understood my father at a richer, deeper level.

I wanted to share some of these images, so here are just two of them.

As some of you know (and others have read), my father was formally educated and trained as an artist but eventually found employment in America as a graphic layout artist and small business owner. Although he was constantly preoccupied with making enough to feed the family, put a roof over our heads and educate his children, he still always found time to pursue his art. Over time, art became his way to express his thoughts and emotions without words, accents, and eventual misunderstandings. It was his therapy for years of sweat and trauma that have surely left scars on his soul.

So I am thankful to have these paintings of my dad's homeland. These paintings give me another glimpse of my father's life -- his past, his losses, his yearnings, his dreams.

Sushi, god, and karaoke = Oh what a night!

I had the most fulfilling Saturday night and am so thankful for the friends I have and to live in a city that offers so much. Oh what a night, indeed! Here's a brief recap and my thoughts on what made it so special.

On Saturday evening, my friend, Holly, and I were invited by our friends, Sun Yung and Christopher, to dinner and concert. Very sweet of them. We made our way to Fujiya at LynLake for some sushi and noodles. When I eat sushi, I tend to prefer to eat at the sushi bar where you can interact with the chef and try out new delights (or at least their specials). At Fujiya, I also recommend sitting in the front room where the liquor and sushi bars are located. They have a fine dining room in the back, as well as outdoor seating, but it's not as fun back there. I seem to be going to this place about once per week, either for just drinks or to eat/drink. Being a frequent customer has allowed me to get to know a couple of the sushi chefs, one of whom is a friend of many friends. This sort of "in" as well as a generous tipping policy has led to some wonderful dining experiences. I usually ask the chef to make me X dollars worth of sushi (his choice) and leave the rest to him. It's always a surprise and never a disappointment. I try things I've never tried before. This time I had a spicy oyster in the shell and seared belly of tuna. All washed down with a 22 oz. Asahi beer. Yummy.

After gorging ourselves, we took the mini-van (SY and CC's vehicle of choice) to the Walker Art Center to see three bands perform. Each band was unique. Blood on the Wall sounded like early Sonic Youth - they played the shortest set of songs ever (most lasting about 1 minute). The next band up was 13 & god and they sounded like a gift from God. They were amazing in creating a unique sound that blended various genre of music together into a beautiful arrangement of melody and harmony. Check out their song Men of Station. The last band Black Dice, unfortunately, left us literally daef and seizure induced, which very well might have been the intended effect. I am not quite sure how to describe them besides saying it sounded like noise...high quality television static mixed with guitar feedback. Needless to say, we left after about 30 minutes of high pain endurance.

By 11:30, we were 1 hour and 30 minutes late to our last stop of the night -- Mike and Sarah's home -- for a little karaoke. We really needed it to purge ourselves of the Black Dice trauma. Mike had been waiting for us and Sarah ended up going to bed because we were about an hour plus late (oops!). Shortly after our arrival, Ed, Kurt, and Ken showed up and Ken brought apple pie of all things...which did taste great at around 2 a.m. Somehow, it was decided that it would be a "workshop" night for karaoke which means singing songs that we don't know very well to practice. Per Christine's email suggestion, I tried to sing "Hand in my pocket" by Alanis Morissette and also tried out "Peaceful, easy feeling" by the Eagles. I massacred the first and flew on the second. Well, about 4+ hours later, including a brief 15 minute nap, I made my way home. Voice sore, belly full, and ready for a night of sleep.

It was the perfect combination for the evening...a great meal, amazing concert, and a relaxed evening of singing with friends. All the things I love to do when I have time and money on hand.

Autumn Rain and Memories of Location and Place

Today started out as another rainy day and, for those who've read my earlier entries, such days often bring back the nostalgia of childhood and the importance of solitude to refresh my perspective on life. Unlike summer rains though which conjure up the warmth and embrace of the solstice, rain in autumn reminds me of the crisp air that fills the lungs with pure oxygen, technicolor foliage that can dizzy the eyes, the sweetness of freshly picked apples, the long drives down winding roads leading to a small diner or curbside stand selling corn. To sum it up, autumn rains remind me, first and foremost, of New England -- my childhood homeland. It serves as a gateway to memories (new and old) of location and place.

Of course, today's rain also reminds me of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita and the devastation to the Gulf Coast region. I awoke to NPR reports about the lives lost, properties damaged, rescue and relief efforts thwarted and successful. Learning more than I ever thought I would about the distinction between a category 3 and category 4 hurricane...about the role of local, state, and federal agencies...about the responsibilities of FEMA and national guard units. For the many people affected directly by the hurricanes, particularly those displaced and uprooted and grieving with loss, it will be hard to experience early autumn rain without conjuring up these hard, unforgiving memories of dislocation.

Yet even hurricane memories are not all bad memories. I remember when Hurricane Gloria stormed through my hometown of South Windsor, CT in October of 1985 [Read other people's memories too]. I was 16 years old and my best friend, Pete, and I decided to adventure through the eye of the storm. We foolishly tied a rope to our waists that connected us together and wandered through our suburban neighborhood, surveying the fallen trees around us, marveling at the changing skyscape, fearfully worrying about a sudden wind gust. Pete's mom realized we were missing and yelled at us from the front door of their home, telling us what idiots we were and to get the hell back in the house. We scurried back unharmed. I still vividly remember and cherish that memory as one which defined our strong friendship bonds...a willingness to die together (however foolish).

I also remember how my family sat in the family room all together, riding out the worst of the storm as a family. Suddenly, we heard loud successive bombs falling beside and on our home. Literally. Sixty to hundred foot trees in our yard were uprooted from the earth and slamming to the ground and onto our home. At least three or four mammoth trees fell onto our roof! It was awesome and frightening. Had the trees fallen on the roof at a given angle or altogether at once, the house may have collapsed. Fortunately, we survived (as did our house). The next day, neighbors emerged to survey the damage. Our home seemed to bear the brunt of the damage. My dad, brother, uncle and I, along with neighbors, broke out the chain saws and began to remove the trees from the roof and yards. It was a week of neighbor helping neighbor. Although we came from such different backgrounds, the hurricane brought out a degree of social capital which bonded our neighborhood.

But enough with childhood memories, no matter how validating and important...we live in the present and what present-day memories are conjured up by this autumn rain?

Well (technically), it has stopped raining, but the sky remains grey and overcast as I sit here at a coffeeshop, sipping gunpowder green tea, avoiding work-related readings. I just received a text message from my friend, Mike, wanting to sing karaoke tonight. I know it will be a long evening and I find comfort in it. Comfort in having such great friends with whom to share a Saturday night.

Yesterday, I had lunch with a friend who also happens to work at the University and I asked him if he and his wife felt like Minneapolis was their home. I asked him this question because I knew that they have struggled with this issue in the past. He shared that they only recently have begun to feel that Minneapolis is their home. He now realizes that by not claiming this place as their home, they were preventing themselves from putting down roots, from making long-lasting friendships, and from feeling a sense of place and belonging. I was happy to hear him make this statement, because I really want him to stick around and, more importantly, to be present in the here and now of life...to not constantly be looking back or stretching his neck always looking forward.

Like many of my friends, I have lived all over in my short life. After 17 years in the same town and state (South Windsor, CT), I've since lived in Great Barrington, MA (1 year), Boston, MA (4 years), Richmond, VA (4 years), Davis/Sacramento, CA (2 years), Austin, TX (3 years), and now Minneapolis, MN (5+ years). This constant movement has taught me the importance of making home wherever you might be.

Some people think of me as the ultimate extrovert, but those who know me well know that I need my downtime to recharge, reflect, refresh. Truth be told, part of my extroversion is also my conscious effort to make where ever I am my home. In academia, it's easy to get lost in one's own thoughts and not be a part of much else. Not profound science but it takes sincere effort to connect. In many ways, I cannot feel at home any place without making friends. I am a social being (we all are, even those professed to be social isolates) and friends are a part of what I define as my home.

In short, autumn rains remind me that I am one person who is part of a collective life, giving me a sense of place and location in life -- as one person in the shared midst of many. The importance of people in our lives. More importantly, autumn rains remind me to create new memories of my life experiences, to capture and cherish each encounter and interaction, to take in life with all my senses (as Thoreau once wrote "...to live deep and suck all the marrow of life"), because along with the crisp air and changing leaves (and all the other wonders of autumn) is the stark reminder that winter is a short season away. So remember the Buddhist saying, Where ever you go, there you are .

Michelle Wie and Asian America

Michelle Wie is going pro! Not necessarily a big surprise but it is big news, especially for Korean/Asian America. Michelle is still only 15 years old and will turn pro before her 16th birthday (Oct 11th). Interestingly, she is not eligible to join the LPGA until she is 18 years old, so she will play in the allowable limit of 6 tournaments using sponsor's exemptions next year. She also may play a few men's tournaments. However, by turning pro, she will make approximately 10 million per year in endorsements (Nike, Samsung, to name a few). I am excited for Michelle and hope she succeeds in her pursuit to be the best golfer -- playing in both the LPGA and PGA and winning tournaments.

That said, I think this is an even bigger deal for Asian Americans, particularly Korean Americans. Michelle has the potential to be the 21st century Bruce Lee but better, busting more stereotypes. She can and will open doors for Asian American women and men, not just in sports but, more importantly, in the media. As you may recall, Bruce Lee was just reaching mass media success before his untimely death in 1973. Had he been chosen to star in Kung Fu, which was his own idea, imagine the impact his success would have done for Asian America. Instead, the producers hired David Carradine - a White person starring as an Asian American. So sad.

My concern is whether it is all too much, too soon for Michelle Wie at 15 years old. I hope and pray that her parents and handlers (managers, agents, coaches) nurture her career and continue to educate her on more than just her golf swing. I also hope that the Asian American community has patience with her and allows her to mature as an individual first. As she gains comfort and success in the public spotlight, she will make an impact in both small and big ways.

Quite honestly, her eventual golf victories will make Asian Americans proud but many in mainstream society will see her as an exception to the stereotype. I believe that it will be the small ways that will have the greatest impact on the Asian American community. These small ways include the way she interacts with the media, the manner in which she accepts wins and losses, the good works that she pursues (beyond golf), the degree of compassion she shows, etc. These small ways will change the perceptions of the media and mainstream society about Asian Americans...or at least I hope, but only time will tell.

Real Karaoke People and Ed Bok Lee

Hey everyone! Here is a great new book of prose and poetry by one of my closest friends in Minnesota - Ed Bok Lee. Ed's an amazing multi-genre writer (and power karaoke singer) known to many as the Korean Dream. Check out his new book and stay tuned for his book release party on October 15th at the Loft Literary Center (more info to come). Rumor has it that I will be doing some Korean cooking for it. Plus, there will be karaoke for those ready to publicly unveil their singing pipes.

REAL KARAOKE PEOPLE: POEMS AND PROSE
by Ed Bok Lee

Many Voices Award-winning New Book
Published by NEW RIVERS PRESS, release date: October 1, 2005

ED BOK LEE’s various writing awards include grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Loft Literary Center, the Minnesota State Arts Board, SASE and the Jerome Foundation. He attended kindergarten in South Korea, and grew up in North Dakota and Minnesota. Lee is a former state Grand Slam Poetry champion and holds an MFA from Brown University. REAL KARAOKE PEOPLE: POEMS AND PROSE is his first book. More information at www.edboklee.com.

REAL KARAOKE PEOPLE: POEMS AND PROSE
by Ed Bok Lee

ISBN: 0-89823-226-0 CUSA / 9780898232257
Paperback, 96 pp.
$13.95

(to purchase, call your local bookstore, or visit
www.amazon.com or www.barnesandnoble.com)

ABOUT THE BOOK

A dramatic literary debut, Real Karaoke People
juxtaposes tradition, politics and pop culture to
bridge generations and continents in a way both
heart-rending and real. From a Buddhist temple on a
Korean mountain top, to Sex World in downtown
Minneapolis, to the smoldering L.A. Riots, far beyond
to a tornado touching down on a reservation in
Northern Minnesota, Ed Bok Lee’s award-winning poems
and stories usher the reader through a cultural
kaleidoscope of karaoke rooms, churches, dog fights,
movie houses, Asian night clubs, immigrant kitchens
and small-time Midwestern wrestling rings, all the
while scrutinizing conceptions of race, class and
history. At once nostalgic, critical and revelatory,
Real Karaoke People offers a provocative portrayal of
an America at war with change and loss, hope and the
living colors of desire.

Real Karaoke People will appeal to a wide variety of
domestic and international readers (of all ethnic
backgrounds and ages) with personal connections to the
changing face of America, the Immigrant Experience,
Karaoke singing, Poetry Slams, Hip-Hop, Buddhism, the
Korean War, and/or Travel through Asia.

ADVANCE PRAISE

"Real Karaoke People takes the rich immigrant
experience of our urban centers and gives it both a
quiet grace and the energy of
hip-hop....reinvigorating the Whitmanian tradition for
the twenty first century—one of the most impressive
debuts in recent memory."

—David Mura, author of Turning Japanese

"Ed Bok Lee’s Real Karaoke People is one of the most
engaging, troubling, and rewarding collections [of
poems and prose] I have read in quite some time. There
is no place this poet’s eye does not enter, no
darkness it doesn’t look into, no light it doesn’t
absorb..."

—Pablo Medina, author of Points of Balance/Puntos de
apoyo;
President of AWP (Association of Writers & Writing
Programs)

"A master of word, music, image, and character
creation, Lee invokes Greek drama, slam poetry,
Japanese haiku, Native American storytelling,
Shakespearean sonnets, MTV, and African griots in his
beautiful ‘poelogues.’"

—Elaine H. Kim, University of California at Berkeley

"Ed Bok Lee will break your heart and sew it back up
again with his piercing words... Real Karaoke People
will make you want to break into song."

—Ishle Yi Park, author of The Temperature of This
Water/Poet Laureate of Queens, New York

"The narrator is unforgettable— as well as his
characters such as the man who looks for a wife 'with
oceanic lungs who can blow life into the spirit he’s
lost.'...There is voltage in these hard lessons— these
secrets on how to survive... A fire burns here."

—Diane Glancy

"Ed Bok Lee follows the exuberant tradition of poets
like Whitman and Ginsberg, those who sing wildly for
tribe and culture and self."

—Debra Marquart, author of The Hunger Bone: Rock &
Roll Stores

"What a beautifully complex, contradictory, and
insistently compelling world Ed Bok Lee gives us...
this is a book that opens up new possibilities for
American poetry."

—Jim Moore, author of Lightning at Dinner

MORE PRAISE

"Ed Bok Lee’s Real Karaoke People is one of the most
engaging, troubling, and rewarding collections [of
poems and prose] I have read in quite some time. There
is no place this poet’s eye does not enter, no
darkness it doesn’t look into, no light it doesn’t
absorb. I follow the people in his poems down
Midwestern streets, I watch them wrestle, love, dance,
fall down drunk, get up. Real karaoke people sing "in
Chinese, Japanese, Spanish, English, Korean,
Indonesian, Vietnamese." Ultimately they sing the
language of poetry, the language of us all."

—Pablo Medina, author of Points of Balance/Puntos de
apoyo;President of AWP (Association of Writers &
Writing Programs)

"What a beautifully complex, contradictory, and
insistently compelling world Ed Bok Lee gives us in
Real Karaoke People. This is a book that takes as its
jumping off place the idea that the "global soul" is
not a literary invention, but a vision and a
sustaining home: as real as a hot summer's day in
South Minneapolis or a cold winter's day in Seoul in
1945. These poems move surely through many different
realities, thanks to compelling narratives and a lyric
grace which both inspires and challenges: this is a
book that opens up new possibilities for American
poetry."

—Jim Moore, author of Lightning at Dinner

"Real Karaoke People takes the rich immigrant
experience of our urban centers and gives it both a
quiet grace and the energy of hip-hop. "What feeds
your soul?" the poet asks, and answers with the
pungent smells of Asian cooking, off-key voices of
karaoke, and a "girl's wicked drawl that first
crackled through a KFC late-night drive-thru speaker."
Here are delicate lyrics and verbal tours de force,
side-splitting ‘poelogues’ and plangent voices that
tear away the screens of indifference and cliché…
reinvigorating the Whitmanian tradition
for the twenty first century… one of the most
impressive debuts in recent memory."

—David Mura, author of Turning Japanese

"Stories, nightmares, fables, myths, tall tales,
legends, family secrets... Ed Bok Lee will break your
heart and sew up back up again with his piercing
words… I felt like a changed woman... Real Karaoke
People will make you want to break into song."

—Ishle Yi Park, author of The Temperature of This
Water/Poet Laureate of Queens, New York

"These poems come in rapid fire from a world at war
with change and loss, forgetfulness and memory. Ed Bok
Lee’s words hit like pellets. He delivers amazing
lines: "we learn to navigate by drowning." Lee is a
truth teller of the immigrant experience in our vast
and diverging demography. He brings the world right up
in our face. The narrator is unforgettable— as well as
his characters such as the man who looks for a wife
"with oceanic lungs who can blow life into the spirit
he’s lost." Lee brings knowledge of what it is like to
settle in the current New America, updating the
European immigrant experience of the last century—
providing a latter to the earlier America. There is
voltage in these hard lessons— these secrets on how to
survive. Lee’s words are his navigational devices. He
speaks with profound energy in this first collection
of poems— A fire burns here."

—Diane Glancy

"Ed Bok Lee is an exciting new American writer. His
layered collection, Real Karaoke People, chronicles a
tumultuous journey through time and space that's never
chronological or linear…an intensely emotional and
intellectual journey around decades and oceans to
glimpse America's continual becoming… A master of
word, music, image, and character creation, Lee
invokes Greek drama, slam poetry, Japanese haiku,
Native American storytelling, Shakespearean sonnets,
MTV, and African griots in his beautiful ‘poelogues.’"

—Elaine H. Kim, University of California at
Berkeley/author of Asian-American
Literature: An Introduction to the Writings and Their
Social Context

(for more book or author information, please contact:
Donna Carlson, Managing Editor, New Rivers Press /
carlsond@mnstate.edu / (218) 477-5870)

(for PHOTOS / INTERVIEW OPPORTUNITIES:
o Interview with and photo of author
o Print quality e-mail photo files of Book Cover and
Author Photo, please contact Lisa Fink / SASE: The
Write Place / (612) 822-2500, ext. 104 /
lisa@saseonline.org)

Rock Star: INXS - The Finale

This summer's best karaoke reality show is over and the winner is...JD Fortune from Oakville, Ontario. My good friend, Christine, was spot on with this call from the start of the show. Her dreamy "I wish he were my" boyfriend, JD, beat out the other last two contestants (MiG and Marty) to become the new lead singer to INXS. Truth be told, though I put in my plug early on for my Twin Cities girl, Jordis, I have to agree with the choice. JD fits best with INXS in terms of looks, persona, voice quality, song writing skills, and that ineffable something needed to be a rock star. JD's original song, Pretty Vegas, also demonstrates his ability to pen a hit and, more impressively, it is pretty close to what INXS themselves might have written. It was clear that the band was really into the song.

It's a strange beginning for a newly reformed band whose first lead singer, Michael Hutchence, died of suicide (though many believe it was auto-erotic asphyxiation). I mean, it's strange to have a contest to determine the next lead singer. That said, it's also perhaps the best way to find the best talent out there (vs. having limited tryouts and rehearsals), so whom am I to critique. Congrats to JD and good luck to the new future of INXS. And to Christine, I guess Tai is relieved to have his wife back and to be able to lift the "no more talking about JD" ban!

Sidebar -- I've seen commercials for a similar karaoke/dance contest for the new third member of TLC but I don't think it will have the same success as Rock Star: INXS.

Football Season and Me

It's football season again (yeah!). This is a photo of Quinton Porter, who is the starting quarterback for Boston College (my alma mater).

Believe it or not, as some of you know, I really like watching football on TV, notably NFL but also some college ball. I can watch any NFL game but I have a hard time watching BC play (when they are shown locally) because I get too stressed over whether they might win/lose. They are 2-1 so far having lost on Saturday night to Florida State (28-17). It was a tough loss and they were rallying before Porter sustained an ankle injury. I hope he is okay to play against Clemson this week.

So why football? Well...

It's hard to explain my fascination with football because I am not really a sports fanatic in the traditional sense. I didn't play a whole lot of football growing up, though I did play (often bench warmed) my freshman and sophomore year of HS, as well as in the neighborhood. I also don't play fantasy football and don't know all the latest news/statistics of players across teams (or even one team). I'm not like a lot of ex-jocks who relive their glory days through their local sports teams. I don't even have an urge to attend football games.

Yet, somehow I am able to get completely absorbed in NFL football on Sundays and have been known (frequently) to watch 14+ hours of football in one sitting. Okay, I do get up to eat, go to the bathroom, take short naps, talk briefly on the phone, skim the newspaper, but the game is always on and I always come back to it on Sunday. I know...pretty pathetic, you might say. I also (why am I sharing this?) get fairly animated and am known to hold a football in my hand as I watch the game. I don't, however, own any of those sponge bricks to throw at the TV.

Here's the other odd thing, I really like to watch football by myself, not with a bunch of guys. There is something gratifying about watching the game in isolation. I think it's my stress reliever during the academic year (which it nicely parallels) or something like that. I can zone out and just rest my mind and body. Although, I admit that sometimes I get a kink in my neck from watching too much! I hope to correct some of this physical discomfort with the new couch that I ordered and hope to have soon. So sad, I know.

In talking with my friend Kenny (finally mentioned!), I realized that my addiction may, in truth, be my fascination with the strategy and team play involved in the game. Unlike faster moving sports like basketball (or slower moving sports like baseball), football is much more like old-school, traditional warfare. There is offense and defense. There are position players akin to infantrymen and star players like who act like commandos. QBs are field generals, while linebackers are like platoon leaders. The success of one team's execution of a play is interdependent on the failure of the other team's defensive execution. There is a rhythm and a dance to football. Okay, now I am waxing poetic.

Here is the other thing that I like about watching football. I love the personal stories of hard upbringings, personal setbacks, overcoming injuries -- the drama of it all. Sometimes, oftentimes, such narratives are overkill on TV, but I still like them. It reminds me of the value of hard work and persistence and the joy of living a dream and the hard reality of accepting defeat.

I guess the other thing about football is the seasons during which it takes place. It begins at the start of Fall when the air turns crisp and the nights come early. It rumbles its way through the darkness and cold of Winter and finds daylight and warmth in the Spring. Truly, football reflects the seasons of life! Okay, now I am getting a bit melodramatic, but you get my point.

Maybe others have equal loves/addictions. In truth, my love of football has its limits and it never keeps me from engaging in other activities (thankfully). If a friend calls or a chance to go out occurs, I will defer football to another Sunday without hesitation. But it's nice to know that I can return home to it and expect it the next weekend.

American Radioworks: International Adoption Stories

If you are an adoptee, adoptive parent, birthparent, sibling of an adoptee, or an adoption researcher, share your story with American Radioworks which is producing a radio program called Finding Home: Fifty Years of International Adoption.

I was fortunate to have been contacted by one of the producers of this program thanks to my friend, Kim Park Gregg, who is a doctoral graduate student in American Studies and is completing her dissertation on the oral histories of Korean adoptees. Along with Kim and many other adoptees and fellow researchers, I was interviewed for this program, although I am not sure I will be one of those actually featured in the program. As I told Kim, I am not sure I gave the right kinds of "sound bites" they might want to hear. Oh well... I'm still excited for this program to be broadcast in late October and am proud of Kim for getting the producers to think beyond the experiences of adoptive parents and specifically to include the voice of adult adoptees. You go girl!

It's important that this program represent all facets of the international adoption experience, so I encourage people to share their stories.

A State of Mind: Review of North Korea

On Thursday night, my friends Ed and Sun Yung saw the documentary A State of Mind with me at the Bell on campus. But before the movie, some of us went to eat at Yummy Yummy. This time around though, I honestly was a bit disappointed. The mom and pop-ness of it all is still appealing but I noticed they hired some new guy to help out cooking and I'm not sure he's the best addition. Plus, they still haven't figured out how to cook to order. On Tuesday, they ran out of meat (bulgogi, kalbi) at lunch time which was a tiny bit embarrassing for me because I had brought a bunch of Asian American Studies colleagues with me to try out the food. Oh well. As for last night, the bulgogi was cold while the kalbi was hot. The quality of meat also needs to improve a bit. The side dishes remain good but I wish they would serve white rice instead of fried rice. I'm eating there next Friday for lunch, so I hope for better things.

Okay, onto the actual movie. It was filmed by Daniel Gordon who had also filmed The Game of Their Lives the previous year. This time around, he was given access to film the lives of two girls (11 and 13) who were getting ready for the Mass Games which is a type of gymnastic celebration to the great General (Kim Jong Il) [See a full movie review in The NYTimes]. The movie begins with scenes from the Mass Games and quickly moves to scenes of scores of young children practicing their dance/gymnastic moves in unison day after day after day. They typically practice outside even when it is below 0 (F) and the narrator comments that schools are not in session during most of the winter months because of the lack of internal heating. Nevertheless, it is not too cold to not practice for the Mass Games. You quickly learn the importance of these games to the lives of these two young girls.

The Mass Games were begun by Kim Jong Il's father, Kim Il Sung, back in the 1940s as a means to demonstrate to the people and the world the military strength, athleticism, and cultural beauty of the North Korean people. In reality, the games serve as yet another means to subjugate the people to blindly adhere to the cult of personality of Kim Il Sung and now his son Kim Jong Il.

In repeated scenes, the girls express their deepest wish/fantasy to perform in front of Kim Jong Il. It is stated with such religious fervor that you would think he were God -- which is exactly the point. Because of this devotion to him, thousands of girls (and boys) practice daily without ever knowing if they will be chosen to perform. Although these two girls are among the most talented, their selection is based on the performance of the entire team which again reinforces the notion of the collective over the individual.

We also get to see the daily lives of the two girls' families. Unlike most of North Korea, these girls families are quite privileged living in Pyongyang and reside in nice apartment buildings with relatively ample food and furniture, including a tv which shows 5 hours of propaganda each day. In one nice juxtaposed scene, the electricity goes out while eating dinner (a common occurence) and they eat by candlelight with a stuffed winnie the pooh beside the girl. You also learn that there is a radio speaker in each kitchen of each apartment which plays propaganda music/messages all day and cannot be turned off (but the volume can be adjusted to lower the sound).

As you watch the film, you realize the monotony of the lives of the people. The older of the two girls comments how her days are boring and lonely and practicing for the games gives her some meaning, some hope, some future. Their entertainment, aside from playing with friends, is to watch propaganda tv or to sing patriotic karaoke songs. It is amazing to see the extent of the brainwashing and subjugation.

One of the families is shown visiting a farm collective outside of Pyongyang where the girl's father has a friend from back in his military days. The contrast in living conditions and the physical features of the people is striking. The farm land is dusty and barren and the people are tanned, rugged, wrinkled with years of hard labor. Clearly, North Korea, particularly in the countryside, is struggling with poverty and malnutrition and deprivation. Yet you also sense that there might be more freedom out in the countryside where the watchful eye of a totalitarian government is less intense (perhaps). There is less opportunity and less fortune, but a sober solidarity among the people. In the conversations between father and friend, you see the importance of threads of memory which bind these men together. Here you see memories of the past as glints of hope for the future.

The production of the Mass Games is the most amazing spectacle ever and clearly it is the climax of the film. To the credit of the people, the Mass Games is impressive. The precision and artfulness of the movements and performances are mesmerizing, especially when you realize that hundreds of thousands of people are coordinated altogether. How much money and effort must be put into these games which serve no other purpose than self-aggrandizement. Yet it is exactly this...a show...a superficial event that clouds the judgments of the people to forget about their sufferings and to suppress individual freedom and thought.

As I watched the movie, I kept thinking to myself that this is an amazing and disturbing piece of social psychology engineering. The director was supposedly given unlimited access to film whatever he wanted but I question the validity of this claim. I have heard through news reports and personal connections with South Koreans who have reunited with North Korean families that individuals and families carefully censor themselves in front of cameras and even family members because they fear retribution from the state government. When North Koreans do speak about the pain and suffering and constant fear, they do so under the bed covers late at night. Knowing this reality, when watching the film, I kept wondering about what is the point of this sanitized version of North Korea. On the one hand, it shows glimpses of the hardships and the insanity of a totalitarian regime. On the other hand, it fails to address these issues head on and instead paints a portrait of North Korea that is compassionate (in the context of these two girls).

I left the movie thinking of my father's family who fled North Korea on one of the last trains sponsored by the YMCA at the start of the war. I can imagine seeing my father watching this movie and shaking his head in disbelief at the lunacy of it all and yet also holding back the tears as he sees countrysides and landscapes that make his heart ache for his homeland. This is how I felt leaving the theater at the close of the movie. A generation removed from this diaspora and yet feeling the torn pangs of yearning for a homeland that I never got to know.

Bush Needs to Pee!

Rick Wilking from Reuters snapped this photo of our beloved President.

U.S. President George W. Bush writes a note to Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice during a Security Council meeting at the 2005 World Summit and 60th General Assembly of the United Nations in New York September 14, 2005. World leaders are exploring ways to revitalize the United Nations at a summit on Wednesday but their blueprint falls short of Secretary-General Kofi Annan's vision of freedom from want, persecution and war. ~ Reuters

What does the note say? Here's a close up of the note (no joke!).

"I think I need a bathroom break. Is that possible? W"

He must be thinking...don't laugh, don't think about peeing, keep looking ahead, act interested...I wonder if I can watch the Wedding Crashers tonight?

Whalers!

As you can see, I've added a new photo of me as a kid to the site. This photo was taken when I was maybe 20 or 22 years old. Okay, maybe 7 or 8 years old. That's my brother, Martin, in the background looking out from the giant binoculars. We are both wearing New England Whalers t-shirts which was my favorite t-shirt as a kid. The Whalers were a WHA/NHL hockey team that eventually was named the Hartford Whalers and then devolved/relocated into Carolina Hurricanes (ugh!). In case your wondering, my brother and I are not twins. My mom just liked to buy things in two back then. Funny because I do the same now as an adult. That is, I'll find a shirt or pair of pants that I like and I will buy two pairs in two colors. Call it lazy, convenient, pragmatic. The photo was taken at Niagara Falls in upstate New York on one of those memorable childhood road trips that seems to last forever. Some of you may remember them...peeing in the jar or fearing you might have to, car overheating on the highway, eating Korean food packed into the cooler at the rest stop, playing stupid road trip games (our favorite was to see how many gas stations, such as Mobil, you would pass by). I may keep the photo up for a while or take it down. I'm still undecided, so let me hear your thoughts.

North Korea Film: A State of Mind

Here is a documentary, A State of Mind, that's playing this week at the UMN Bell Auditorium on Wed and Thur at 7:15 and 9:15 pm. I hope to watch it on Thursday, so check back to hear about my impressions.

Idiocy of Hate Crimes

2 Convicted of Murdering Transgender Teen
By AP :: September 12, 2005 :: In NYTimes

HAYWARD, Calif. (AP) -- Two men who had sex with a transgender teen and then discovered she was biologically male were convicted Monday of her murder, but cleared of hate crime charges. Michael Magidson and Jose Merel, both 25, face mandatory sentences of 15 years-to-life in prison for second-degree murder in the killing of Gwen Araujo, who was beaten, tied up and strangled.

What a horrible, senseless crime committed by these men (a mistrial was declared for a third man). If individuals were better socialized by family, peers, and society to accept individual differences and were taught and equipped with skills to manage their emotions without resorting to violence to protect their pride and cover their hurt, this sort of tragedy would never happen. If individuals who are not "of the mainstream" were nevertheless able and allowed to feel safe and open in this world, this sort of tragedy would never happen.

Yet somehow, these convicted men were found not guilty of a hate crime. How was this tragedy not a hate crime? It seems quite clear that they murdered this teenage woman simply because she was transgendered and did not tell them. How is this any different that the case of Teena Brandon, featured in the movie Boys Don't Cry?

Sidebar -- Not directly related to this case but I want to commend the language usage of the AP who address the victim as a woman, using female gendered language to describe her.

Vegas: Land of Drawfs, Giants, and The Mouth

Well, I returned alive and well from a weekend trip to Las Vegas for my childhood friend Pete's bachelor party. Pete and I grew up next door to each other in CT. I've known him since I was 10 years old at the start of 5th grade. I actually remember walking across our driveways and meeting him along with his parents and younger brother. I walked across those parallel driveways thousands of times to go to school together, ask him to play outside, eat over for dinner, hang out to play video games, watch MTV, and to go out in the evenings. So, it was good to see Pete and to see him doing well, happy to be getting married.

I arrived in Las Vegas on Thursday morning and departed on Sunday afternoon. There was very little sleep in between those two time points. But as the ad slogan goes: what happened in Vegas, stays in Vegas. So, I will just focus on a few random observations about the city of sin, which now ironically (but oddly fittingly) bills itself as a family destination.

We stayed at the Palms Hotel which is owned by the Maloof brothers who also happen to own the Sacremento Kings (NBA). It's off the main strip/drag so it's a bit isolated from the other casinos and is really quite plain inside and out, but it remains very popular with the hip/trendy crowds. The hotel is not as glamorous or wonderous as the Bellagio or Mandalay Bay, but much nicer than the Gold Coast or other 2nd/3rd tier casinos. The Real World: Las Vegas was filmed at this hotel and it is where they host the Party at the Palms show on E! TV. It's all marketing wizardry in Vegas and the Palms has pulled it off thus far. More illusion than reality but that sort of thing blurs together in Vegas.

Arriving in Vegas to slot machines in every nook and corner of the airport is always a jolting welcome. Having arrived early (8:30 am) and not wanting to awaken Pete too early, I lounge about the restaurant and then the pool. It was a gorgeous day -- clear blue skies, high 80s, cool wind, no humidity. Lots of beautiful people around me. Trying to even out my farmer's tan. Later on, Pete and his friends join me for an afternoon poolside. We basically repeat this ritual the next day of just doing nothing by the pool for the whole afternoon. It was wonderful and relaxing. If I had forethought and motivation, I would have worked in a spa treatment massage to maxime the relaxation. Next time.

Despite paying an arm and a leg for a hotel room, the service at the Palms was terrible. I mean really terrible. The service at the poolside and inside at the restaurant was horrendously slow. At one breakfast, my friend and I waited 20 minutes just to get a waiter to come to our table and another 20 minutes to get our water (and only after I complained and still waited 5 minutes). The bland breakfast came about 15 minutes afterward. At the pool, we had these two skinny (actually, emaciated) twins (typical Vegas) as our waitresses but more often than not we went straight up to the bar to get our drinks.

Okay, enough complaining! Here are some random highlights and summaries.

Nicky Hilton walked by me at the hotel elevator. She's not as tall as you'd imagine from all the press coverage but she is very attractive. Her hair is dyed blond again. She was there to promote a fashion show. I think I saw Paris from afar. Someone we met at the nightclub (Rain), which is very cool with blowing gas fire balls above the dance floor, met Nicky Hilton's father whom they described as drunk but quite friendly. Supposedly, we heard Lindsey Lohan was in the house but who knows. We know that Seth Green was there because my friend has the same last name and the front desk asked him if he was Seth!

At the hotel, we met a young woman who happens to be a little person (dwarf). This alone is not a strange site. What made it more surreal was later on when I boarded the airplane to go home and sat in front of a giant! Okay, a really, really tall person. Perhaps 7 feet 8 inches or maybe even taller (I think he could have been 8 feet, in all honesty) and large (not relatively skinny like Yao Ming). He was so tall that he had to bend over to walk through the aisles. He obviously could not sit in a regular seat, despite buying 2 coach seats on the plane. He sat across them with his legs scrunched and feet extending into the aisle. No joke, his shoe was the size of an average person's thigh (width and height). It was quite unfortunate and you wonder why the airline didn't offer him an exit row. Incidentally, I guess the tallest living man is disputed. Guinness lists Xi Shun at 7'9" but supposedly it is Leonid Stadnik from Ukraine, who is 8'4" and growing. I think the person on the airplane was close to 8' but he might've looked larger given the small dimensions of the plane.

I don't gamble much. Instead, I went to the center hotel bar to watch college football (Texas vs. OSU - UT won!). Having worked at Texas for 3 years, I was rooting for them and sat next to a guy who had gone to grad school at UT. Across the bar from us was another Texas fan whom we started to refer to as The Mouth. This guy was obviously intoxicated and did not stop talking to anyone who so much as looked his way. The guy beside me started joking with The Mouth and soon enough The Mouth started to buy us drinks, then he bought 30 drinks for the whole bar, then another 20 drinks for anyone in the bar area. It went on till halftime when I had to leave for dinner. There are lots of people like The Mouth in Vegas.

I've been to Vegas twice before but I never tried to go into any nightclubs. Once I was driving through on my way to CA and my friend and I just played blackjack all night and wondered the strip to check out the sights and sounds. Another time I went for a bachelor party but we had gone to Vegas to eat at the top restaurants there (honestly). We also had wonderful spa treatments. Well, this trip was all about nightclubs. We went to the Ghost Bar the first night and Rain the second night. The line for the Ghost Bar was a couple hundred deep, mostly men. When I asked the security, he said that we (3 guys) would not get into the club without women. In a conundrum, I decided to offer a very nice tip and it's amazing the kind of service one suddenly receives :) On the top floor of the hotel, the bar has a great outdoor balcony that overlooks the whole downtown. It was a great relaxing first night. For Rain, we had a connection and were able to secure a VIP room on the top floor which overlooks the dance floor. It cost an arm and a leg but it was easy to cover among 20 guys. This was a club to see and be seen. It was packed and lively. Mostly, I stayed on the balcony and hung out with friends. We saw Nicky Hilton down on the main floor with her posse, secured off from the "common folks."

I only left the hotel once during the 3 days to go with my friends to see the water show at the Bellagio. This occurs in the front of the hotel where the man-made moat/pond shoots out amazing waterfalls synchonized to muzak. This weekend was not about site seeing. It was about making sure Pete had a good time and I hope he did.

It also was good to spend time with two other childhood friends, Chris and Jim (otherwise known as Spanky and Walrus - we all had nicknames in HS). We all went to high school together and have kept in sporadic touch over the years. It's an amazingly tight group of friends from HS (about 12 of us) who still keep in touch, attend each other's weddings, etc. BTW, Jim owns/operates ZipperFish and just got a deal with Starz to develop one of his "characters" into a show. Over the course of the weekend, we spent a lot of time joking, catching up, reminiscing, and not getting enough sleep. It was good to see them and to find out what each is doing in life these days. Too bad the rest of the East Catholic HS group could not make it out, but we will see them in November at the wedding.

My trip home was uneventful even with the continuing NWA strike. I will say that every time I travel, I am so happy to be back home. I also appreciate living in Minneapolis each time. It's not the most happening city, nor the most glamorous, nor got the best weather, nor the most diverse, but I have a wonderful job, a great home, diverse group of interesting friends, and plenty to do to keep my life enriched. Plus, I really am not a big city person and like my little oasis in the land of 10,000 lakes.

Well, that's the sanitized version of my weekend in Vegas. Sorry to disappoint those wanting more but I gotta follow the motto :: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Culture of Memories

Just after writing my entry on Y2 and childhood memories, I picked up the latest issue of the Monitor on Psychology which is my discipline's monthly professional magazine. The issue's focus is memory flexibility and there is a piece on the culture of memory. How fitting to my entry today!

In the above linked article, a number of studies are referenced that suggest Asian/Asian Americans do not recall childhood memories as early as Whites or Maoris. The first recalled memory of adults from Asia is around 57 months, compared with 42 months (Whites) and 32 months (Maoris). A similar pattern occurs for first recalled dreams.

According to a number of cognitive and developmental psychologists, this difference is explained according to a social interaction model of development. Specifically, the cultural context of parenting may play a big role in how we construct our memories. One typology of parenting suggests there are "low-elaborative" and "high-elaborative" parents. High elaborative parents spend a lot of time talking to their children about the past and encouraging their children to give detailed accounts of their everyday lives. Low elaborative parents talk less about the past and tend to ask closed ended questions (vs. open-ended ones). It is implied that Asian cultures tend to be more low-elaborative which is consistent with a notion of a collectivistic, hierarchical cultural mileau.

Based on my very scientific N of 1 experience, I would have to agree with this assessment, though I tend to avoid such typologies. I think that many immigrants are low-elaborative in parenting style not only because of collectivism-individualism differences but also because the past is often sad, depressing, upsetting, traumatic and the present and future offer more hope to those who have escaped war, poverty, loss. I remember once asking my grandmother to describe life during the war. She first avoided the question, then smirked and commented that she didn't want to bring up bad memories when life today is good. I also think that many immigrant parents simply don't have time to reminisce or ponder the past with their children because they are dead tired and worn out when they get home from a hard day at work.

As I recall my childhood memories, whether triggered by something trivial like Yummy Yummy or by something more serious like the death of a family member, they are usually stories I have told myself over and over again in my head. Fortunately, my mom also was a wonderful storyteller and I spent hours and hours listening to her recount her childhood in Korea. I was fortunate in this way. These stories, like a weaved tapestry, have filled my life with rich and vibrant colors that help to define who I am.

When I was in graduate school, I happened across a book by another psychologist, Dan McAdams, entitled The Stories We Live By. This book was very life changing to me because it stressed how we construct our identities, our selves, based on narratives that thread through our past and present experiences. We make sense and meaning out of our experiences and this sense of coherence serves as a foundation for our well-being.

I guess in writing about these stories from my past (in this blog) helps me to shore up my personal narrative and reminds me of who I am and where I came from.

Yummy Yummy, Childhood Memories, and Immigrant Dreams

There is a new Korean restaurant in town called Yummy Yummy. It's located at the corner of Oak Street and Washington Ave (next to Oak St Cinema) on the East Bank of the UMN campus. Don't confuse it with Yummy which is located on Nicollet Ave South (Eat Street). That restaurant is Chinese and also good, but go eat at Yummy Yummy!

Yummy Yummy is pretty yummy. I've only been once for lunch but it was a good meal and definitely plan to revisit soon. They have a limited menu (about 6 main dishes of beef, pork, chicken, dumplings) but the quality and quantity is good. What's more, the owners are super friendly and sweet. They are earnest folk who are really invested in making this venture a success.

Although I've only been there once (ok, twice if you count the first time walking by the restaurant with friends and stopping to talk briefly to the owners), I feel a kinship with the owners. It dawned on me pretty quickly that they remind me of my own family who used to own a Chinese/Korean restaurant.

My parents immigrated to the US in the 1960s and by the mid-1970s opened up a Chinese fast food takeout restaurant/diner called Chung and Young's (after my aunt and mom's first names). It was located in East Hartford, CT on a busy street full of small businesses and shops and close to the highway leading into Hartford (capital and insurance company mecca). It was a working class town. Only a couple of years after opening the shop, they lost their lease when the owner realized how successful such a business could be. He booted them and opened up his own Chinese restaurant (even tho' he was White) which eventually failed. Looking back, I am sure my parents could have sued his ass but they had no resources (limited English skills, no savings, etc.).

Resilient and undaunted, my family opened up a bigger, nicer restaurant with the same name (Chung and Young's) down two blocks and across the street. This restaurant was open for lunch and dinner. Unlike the first location, it had a small parking lot in the back where I could ride my bicycle in circles and circles for hours and hours. The inside was decorated sparsely but it had these great orange bar stools attached to a counter bar at the back of the restaurant where I could spin around in circles and circles for hours and hours. You get the picture of how much time I spent there as a little kid.

As far as I know, the restaurant business was successful in part because my mom was a great cook. My aunt and she later went on to sell the business and open a Korean grocery store (Arirang House) down a few more blocks and across the street. This grocery store is still around, I think. Eventually, my mom started to teach Korean cooking classes in the evening adult education program and was even featured on the front page of the Food section of the Hartford Courant newspaper. I joked in my eulogy at my mom's funeral that she remains the most famous Korean American to be featured in the largest state newspaper!

Well, Yummy Yummy (hereafter referred to as Y2) reminds me a lot about family's early years and it brings back many memories. It's interesting how something so tangential can open the flood gates of childhood yearnings and adventures, snapshots of happiness and nightmares of sadness. Why Y2 and not my many visits to Dong Yang (another good Korean joint in Columbia Heights). It's hard to say, but I think it's the owners at Y2. The husband and wife duo strike me as so much like my own dad and mom. My dad was the guy who seemed to always be busy but we were never quite sure doing what. In truth, he handled the finances and ran all the errands. My mom was the super energizer bunny who was super friendly to customers and cook extraordinaire.

It was a crazy time in our lives. We were sort of living the American dream in terms of our rise to working middle class in just a short 10 years in the country. Yet it was hard, hard work. My dad and mom both had full time jobs working for an ad agency and an insurance company, respectively, and then they worked at the store in the late afternoon and evenings. In other words, they were working by 7 AM and returning home around 11 PM, day in and day out. After school or on the weekends, my brothers and I spent many hours hanging out in the restaurant kitchen, chasing each other around, wiping down tables, stealing fortune cookies, scrounging up change to get ice cream at Friendly's. Otherwise, we were at home with our grandmother watching a lot of television, playing sports in the backyard, and exploring the creeks and tobacco fields that surrounded our house.

I think back fondly at those times, but if I really examine those memories, I also can recall the frustration, the boredom, the loneliness, the heartache, the worries, the exhaustion that are buried deep down. I try to gloss over these memories with the idealism of youth (and the fiction of adulthood), but I know they are there...wanting to be heard, seen, felt. Oh, I know they are there and I occasionally allow them to surface spontaneously or through provocation. It's always good to feel the full spectrum of memories to give life the right perspective...but truthfully, it's much easier day to day to just focus on the hedonistic and eudomonic memories of the past and present.

Nonetheless, it's really quite amazing to think of the resilience of immigrants like my parents. How did they do it? What helped them to succeed while others in our family and community failed? What costs were incurred emotionally and socially to assure other benefits financially and educationally? Whose lives were bettered and whose lives suffered?

What I do (or try to do) in my work as a psychology professor is to start to answer these questions through my observations, methodological and quantitative skills, and writings. Although I focus on the cultural experiences of immigrants, adoptees, US-born, and refugees, I recognize the genetic, environmental, personality factors that interact with each other to influence our development and adaptation. Yet it's so easy to get lost in the details of these specifics and to lose sight of the big picture. What does all this mean to the everyday person? Am I really understanding and reflecting those experiences in their lives that need to be heard by scholars, politicians, community leaders, neighbors, and strangers? Whom am I serving and in what capacity? These are important but hard questions to use as a reality check.

I'm so thankful to have memories evoked by such simple everyday encounters like stepping through the front door of Y2 and seeing this owner-couple waiting to greet me. I'm reminded of why I am here, doing what I doing.

MN State Fair

Yes, that is me with friends (Sun Yung, Mike, and Sarah) at the MN State Fair on Sunday night. I had vowed to never return to the fair after my one previous visit 3 years ago, but I guess "the times are a-changin" and I gave it another shot. Supposedly, the fair is the largest in the country which is pretty cool except when you realize it also means lots and lots of people. And for those who know me at all, know that I really don't like big crowds...particularly big crowds of large (tall and wide), drunk people who don't look where they are walking and act like ignorant idiots...forget Minnesota Nice (which is just passive aggressivity, anyway)....

Still, I decided to brave the crowds and took the park-ride over to Gate 20 where I paid $9 to enter. It took use a while to orient ourselves, find a beer stand (ordered a 20 oz. Heineken for $5.50), and then to find our friends. We succeeded in finding them at the corn roast stand, which is where you can purchase a hot, roasted corn still on the cob, lathered in butter, and heavily sprinkled with black pepper and butter. Yum.

Eventually, we perused the vendors inside the grandstand and then all decided to head over to Heritage Square which is a bit less crowded and full of odd, historical tidbits of information about MN and the fair. It was here that I came across this ridiculous cloth banner of the Oriental Torture Cabinet. It was beside some other equally ridiculous freak show banners. You can't see it on this one, but the bottom says "ALIVE" to make it all the more amazing.

After this great discovery, we sat for a long while and listened to some fiddle competition. That was cool...for the first 2-3 songs. After checking out a taxidermy vendor (who would buy such a thing at the fair and then have to haul it around all day long?), we decided to grab some food and then go on some rides...

By this point in the day, it was evening and the weather was getting cool. It also seems as if the crowds had changed and there were less children around and more young people (teens, hipsters, college students, folks not working on Monday). I also must admit that the fair, much like Mall of America, is one of the few racially, ethnically integrated public places in the state. Here is a photo from atop the ferris wheel.

At some point, Mike and I decided to see if some guy could guess our ages within 2 years. You pay $1 or $2. If he is wrong, you can pick from a random set of cheap, Chinese import gifts. He asks to see your hands (the back of them) presumably to look for wrinkles and stares you up and down. Then, he writes a number on a little pad, puts his thumb over it, and asks your age. Of course, he guessed wrong for both of us, thinking we were 25. I selected a small teddy bear decked out in a bandana and a p/leather vest that I gave to a friend who probably will give it to her child.

Toward the end of the evening, my friend, Kristen, wanted to go on the Zipper. Feeling more in the spirit of things, I agreed to go on the ride with her. Okay, so what is the Zipper? Imagine a small space ship capsule...you sit (or rather set your butt on a slope) with your head slightly forward because the capsule is so tiny. Then, they close the door on you, which looks like a steel fence, so you feel like a caged animal. You grab a hold of the door/fence and wait...

This ride is not designed for anyone with too much alcohol in them. It was intense, exhilarating, and nauseating. Much more intense than a roller coaster because there is no lull. Basically, it is like a bicycle chain held vertical with about 8 or so capsules attached to it. Once the Zipper starts moving in an oblong circular motion, each capsule spins forward and backwards 360 degrees...really, really fast and really, really jerky. You have to scream or yell to keep from getting nauseated and to keep breathing. We made it through and it was perhaps the highlight of the evening for me.

We also went on the roller coaster and played a few arcade games to basically use up the rest of our tickets which we bought too many of. Then, we started to bump into all sorts of random people that we knew. It just goes to show you how small the Twin Cities can be even at the largest state fair.

I was exhausted by 9:30 pm and Sun Yung and I decided to leave the fair. It was a good 4 plus hours at the fair. I admit that it was much better than I anticipated. I realized two things about going to the fair. First, you have to go with a big group whose excited to be there and there is at least one person who is a fair professional (our friend, Peter!). Second, you simply have to embrace the fair with the right attitude; otherwise, you keep thinking "why am I here?".

Hello Asia!

Hello Asia, VFW, drunk Norwegian, Black nephews...it's not a bad joke...it's what happened to us on Saturday night.

This is what happened. It started out nice enough. My friends and I went to see the Obey/Shepard Fairey exhibit at the Ox-Op gallery in downtown Mpls (behind Grumpy's). Then, we headed to Fujiya for some sushi. After having some great sushi (thanks, Kevin!) and a glass of sake, I suggested we check out the VFW down the street because they have great karaoke. You might be thinking...VFW? The VFW is a great place for cheap drinks, random mix of people, and good karaoke. Why the VFW? I have no idea but trust me.

I am with two friends (both of whom are Korean American and women). As we walk toward the VFW entrance, we encounter a large group of middle-aged Whites smoking cigarettes (a common site in Mpls after the smoking ban). This one guy with a really bad bowl haircut says "Hello Asia!" To which I reply, why not just "Hello America!" Then, to my surprise, a woman says to the guy (and us), "Yeah, why not just America!" I say to her, "Thank you", as we walk into the VFW.

So, later in the night, as I'm flipping through the songbook, the bowl haircut guy comes, drunkenly, to our booth. He asks if he can sit and then goes on to say that he was not trying to be rude, as he was told that he was by the woman friend outside. He said it was fine for me to call him "Hello Norwegian" because he's third generation Norwegian. I say that it is not the same thing because he chose to say Asia based on our skin color (not on anything else). It would be like me calling out to him, "Hello White person!" I go on to explain to him that his comment also infers that we are not American, that we are foreigners. After much back and forth in which he continues to deny over and over that what he said was racist, he then says that he has 3 Black nephews. I think he was meaning that he can't be racist because he has relatives who are racial minorities. I go on to say, "Oh, so you would say to them...Hello Africa or Hello Black people?" He then starts to accuse me of being close-minded! I have to remind him that it is no different than what he said to us. He walks away. A few minutes later, he returns to apologize. Drunk yet thinking hard, he finally starts to get it. He leaves. A few minutes later, he returns to apologize again. This time, he feels that he must buy me a drink. I decline. He persists but eventually leaves. A few minutes later, he returns with $3 that he places on the table for a drink. He leaves. A few minutes later, he returns to comment on how beautiful my friends are and to apologize. Finally, he leaves for good.

After living in Minnesota for 5 years, it's weird but I've had more of these types of encounters in the last year or two than the previous 3 or so years. Is it that these experiences never happened when I first moved here or was I simply living in denial or something else?

I think I can explain why. When I first moved here, I basically did two things. I worked a lot and I attended a Korean American church where I met many Korean people whom I eventually befriended. Because the church was my primary social outlet, we hung out together primarily in each other's homes and did not go out to do a whole lot. As I started to make more friends outside of church, explore the city, and pursue my varied interests, I began to come into more and more contact with everyday Minnesotans (aka White Minnesota).

Like everywhere else in America, Minnesota is still struggling to grasp ethnic and racial diversity. It becomes clear when you read the newspapers and their portrayal of immigrants, refugees, and African Americans. It becomes evident when you look at how racial and ethnic minorities are objectified or exoticized. And more and more, Minnesota is not prepared for when these immigrants, refugees, and racial minority groups speak out or fight back or stand up for themselves.

The ethnic and racial diversity of Minnesota is growing rapidly and it is no longer simply a matter of assimilation for most groups. In the past, Minnesota was known for the salt and pepper (Black-White) couples in which the minority was usually assimilated into White culture. That was fairly palatable to most Minnesotans and perceived as "liberal" and "open-minded". However, ethnic and racial groups are staking out their own public and private spaces. It is no longer a case of assimilation to White mainstream culture. In this new context, just how open and liberal can Minnesota become?

This diversity requires White Minnesota to begin to develop a new vocabulary set and new communication styles and patterns. It requires them to get their assumptions challenged and re-examined. It makes many uncomfortable, while some are able to embrace the changes and see the value in these dynamic shifts. And for ethnic and racial minorities, it gets tiresome and we need to remind ourselves to create change, rather than passively let things happen to us.

Still, it is tiresome. I get frustrated and annoyed and have moments where I think it's not worth it. Moments when I just get so angry and pissed. Moments when I'd like to just punch the guy but don't. Moments where I wonder why Whites don't intervene on themselves and, instead, it is left to us to defend ourselves.

Clearly, the guy at the VFW is still figuring it all out. The woman who corrected him outside, on the other hand, gets it. Thankfully, some folks are starting to get it.

Finger People and Emoticons

Too cute to pass up. This website was sent by a friend (Hee Won) who got it from a mutual friend (Peter). The Korean website is all in Korean, but the flickr site gives some translation (see komusin). In this image, Dokdo refers to a disputed island between South Korea and Japan. For those with a serious interest in this geopolitical debate, a very thorough summary of the dispute can be found at dokdo .

On a sillier related note, another friend (Nicole) sent me this website on emoticons (see emoticons). Now I can understand all the emoticons sent by people (friends, colleagues, students, strangers) from Japan and Korea.

\(^o^)/

Academic Beginnings and Lessons Learned

1997 @ UT 2005 @ UMN

Boy! A lot sure has changed since 1997 when I accepted my first faculty position at the University of Texas at Austin in the Department of Educational Psychology. I am now entering my 9th year teaching (my 6th year at Minnesota) and it's funny to see me then and now. I hope I look better today (or at least more my age). I had just turned 28 years old when I started at Texas and I was very green behind the ears (as well as skinnier than I am now). I suppose I am no longer the "young whipper snapper" as one UT dept administrative staff person described me back then. I've learned a lot about myself and about academic life in these intervening years. Things definitely not taught in school and things that have made academic life the good life.

Sidebar - Isn't it funny how before and after photographs always show the "before" picture with pallor skin color, poor dress, bad haircut, etc. and the "after" picture is always a dramatic improvement. In this case, I swear my UT faculty photo was in black-white and (sadly) that is how I looked.

As I mentioned in a previous blog post, I was surprised when several junior faculty approached me to ask about career advice at this year's annual American Psychological Association convention. I say surprised because I find it hard to believe that people (most of whom are smarter than me) are wanting answers from me and I sometimes wonder myself how I got to where I am.

Well, this experience and similar others got me thinking about academic beginnings and what lessons have I learned (so to speak). And as some of my current crop of grad students prepare to start their professional lives, I thought this might be an opportune time to openly wonder...in no particular order:

1) In choosing a job, remember to consider quality of life in and out of the university. Right after graduation, I chose a post-doc position over a teaching position at a small university in a small podunk town because I could not see myself happy in such an environment, especially as an Asian American with interests in conducting research on Asian Americans. The following year, I chose UT over other schools because I felt the school was a good match and I felt Austin was a great city (and it is a great city, despite what MTV Real World might portray).

2) Similar to the first point, decide early on how to balance quality of life with professional ambitions. I have always made it a rule to only work in the office from M-F, rarely on weekends, and almost never at home. I check email from home, but little else. Does this mean that I work 9-5 MF? No, I tend to work long weekdays (10+ hrs/day) but cherish the free time on the weekends.

3) Try to capture what you research and its importance in one sentence only. This advice was given to me via a fellow junior colleague who had gotten it from a senior mentor. It's good advice because, as a new academician, there is a tendency to be all over the place in interests and a tendency to not see the forest from the trees. To put it another way, can you explain what you exactly study to your grandmother? If she can't understand it, you need to work on this one.

4) Be prepared to abandon some research projects that are either too trivial in worth, too slow in progress, and not directly enough related to your main research objectives/goals. These projects will simply slow you down and distract you from bigger, more ambitious, more meaningful projects.

5) Identify a number of colleagues in and out of your department/university with whom you can commiserate (i.e., other jr faculty) and with whom you can be mentored by (i.e., sr. faculty). These peers and mentors should be people you not only admire but also with whom you get along. They should be able to push the right buttons in you and challenge you to do better work. It's fine to seek out friends for mutual admiration but they won't advance your career. Also, be prepared to give something back to these peers and mentors because mentorship (lateral and vertical) is a two-way street.

6) Continue your relationship with your advisor but stop doing research with your advisor! I was fortunate to get this advice from my advisor (thanks, Steve!), but know of many other people who allow their advisors to ride their coattails for too long. In the end, when tenure review comes along, it bites you in the arse because it appears you have not done independent research. In other words, it looks like you are riding your advisor's coattails.

7) Think beyond your substantive area of research. For example, if you are a counseling psychologist by training (which I am), look toward related substantive areas, such as developmental, social, personality, and toward less related areas, such as behavior genetics, social cognition, neuroscience. It is important, now more than ever before, to be interdisciplinary within psychology. It also is important to look outside psychology for inspiration, whether from ethnic studies or history or political science.

8) Take a photo of yourself then and now to see how much you have aged and wisened over the years (just kidding...sort of).

9) Become a voracious reader in and out of the psychology literature. With the advent of online PsychInfo, it is very easy to peruse current issues of most relevant psychology journals, download pdf articles, and keep up to date on the field. It's equally important, I think, to read non-psychology items, such as fiction, non-fiction, newspapers (NY Times), magazines (New Yorker). Reading not only increases comprehension and vocabulary skills, it also improves your writing skills.

10) Get involved with your local communities. Most research is at heart community-based research. Whether you study college students or school children, it's critical to to understand the ins and outs of this community and to be known by this community. Too often, we approach psychology research as outsiders who have no vested interest in the population of study. Although common to our field, this type of hit and run research is poor research, in my humble opinion.

11) Challenge yourself to become more rigorous and more ambitious in your research conceptualization and methodology. The tendency is to do what you do best and, as a junior faculty, it is good advice when the pressure is on to publish. However, as you progress through the years, it's equally important to push yourself to do better. If you typically do self-report survey research, think about multi-informant research. If you do cross-sectional research, think longitudinal.

12) Obviously, it is critical to publish, publish, publish. The adage "publish or perish" is very true but it's also true to publish is respectable journals. If you compare a person with 20 publications but few (if any) in top tiered journals with someone with 10 publications but most (or all) in top tiered journals, whom is likely the better researcher? On a related note, learn how to write well. Check your grammar and paragraph transitions. Remember to have a narrative thread running throughout your paper. Read the APA Publication Manual which actually has great advice/tips on writing. Also, read books like Bird by Bird by Anne Lamont to get inspired about writing.

13) Learn to be your own advocate. As one of the only faculty in my department to conduct ethnic minority research, my colleagues don't necessarily know what it takes to do such research. As such, I've had to take micro-moments to inform, educate, make aware the challenges of doing such research and bring to light the relevance of such research. This may entail talking with your promotion/tenure committee members or Dean to make sure they understand the salience of your work.

14) Start to apply for grants early on. Start small with inhouse grants and gradually work your way up the food chain. Ask colleagues who have successful grant records for copies of their grants. Even if they study something completely unrelated to your work, you can learn from how they phrase things, address problems, present their past research, develop research ideas, etc.

Well, I feel like I am starting to ramble, so I will close with one last thing I've learned in academia.

15) Be humble, self-critical, and try to grasp the true meaning of your work. Is your current effort really adding to our knowledge base? Is there a guiding and coherent theory behind your work or are you just mixing and matching different ideas together? Does your work really make a difference in everyday people's lives? If you can see the significance of your work, it brings about so much greater pleasure and joy to the work place.

So, if others have other tidbits of wisdom on academic life, I'd love to hear them. I will likely add to this list in the coming weeks, months, years...