Conspicuous Cynic

Alas, I’ve been pretty lazy with my blog as well as keeping in touch with my friends. But happy birthday to you Jeff (albeit two days late) As a tribute, I will be re-posting the Jeff Lee Facts:

Jeff rode a camel through an eye of a needle. Why? Just cuz….

Jeff is a fan of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers because he believes “first is last and last is first”

When you ask Jeff for a fish, he will give you a serpent. When you ask him for an egg, he will give you a scorpion.

Jeff only reads the Song of Songs with parental supervision.

One time when Jeff went over Mary and Martha’s crib, he slapped Mary and told her to help Martha prepare dinner.

Jeff has never harvested grain or burned chaff on the Sabbath.

Jeffgu once fed five thousand with 2 tortillas and three pieces of a hot dog. Needless to say, they were still very hungry.

Jeff is allowed to take the log out of your eye.

Jeff’s favorite book of the Bible? Romans? John? No….Leviticus…….the KJV version in Hebrew.

Jeff Lee read one time that the Word needed to be inside of him. So, he ate a whole bible. Actually two, an NIV when he was young and an ESV to be theologically saavy.

The only person Jeff has ever gotten angry at is at me. This is known as “righteous anger”

Jeff will never eat deviled eggs or devil’s food cake.

At picnics and barbeques,  he is allowed to heap burning coals on anyone who makes fun of him.

The actual demise of Delilah happened when she asked Jeff about his weakness. He said if she cut his hair he would lose all his strength. After she cut his hair, he slayed her with the jawbone of a donkey.

In the story of the adulterer, Jeff actually was looking for a big stone.

Jeff measures his income in shekels and drachmas.

Originally the mustard seed parable was supposed to be about Jeff, but then it was realized faith the size of Noah’s ark would be discouraging.

Jeff in his only guest appearance on the Simpsons, beat Ned Flanders in Bible Trivial Pursuit.

Jeff has successfully placed new wine in old wineskins without them bursting.

Jeff is allowed to cook a goat in its mother’s milk.

Jeff has followed every law written in the book of Leviticus.

If a guy ever touches a cloth on Jeff’s body, that guy can be immune in liking women. Jeff during that very very brief moment finds the female form attractive.

Jeff once overturned all the tables at church when they had a bake sale, calling it a den of robbers. The only thing the church now sells are ESV bibles with commentary by RC Sproul.

Jeff’s farts smell like myrhh and morning breath smell like frankincense.

When one punches Jeff in the cheek, they are lawfully required to punch the other cheek. Otherwise they get the death penalty.

Pork went from unclean to clean when Jeff decided bacon tasted pretty good.

When Jeff broke a string on a guitar while leading praise at the end of the song, he simply prayed and it fearfully unbroke itself.

Spelling

J
LEE
F
F
in scrabble gets you 100,000 points, plus 50 more if you use all 7 letters in your rack.

Jeff Lee does not actually read the Bible, he soaks it in through his pores.

When Jeff Lee accidentally stepped into a confession booth, the priest started confessing to him.

Jeff Lee once thought he forgot to do a Quiet time until he realized he read his Bible and prayed for pleasure in the afternoon.

and get an IPhone:

It’s time to end this struggle which has cost millions of innocent people, the ability to concentrate on their work!

Interesting post by my buddy Jae, on being vulnerable check it out here.

Then again, I don’t know much about love. I am still quite young but I certainly don’t think its a commercialized package of hallmark crap that we see so often. Still, as much as I’d like to pretend I am something special, I am certainly no Don Juan.

This one time on the subway when I saw this lady giggling and pointing. At first I thought it was cuz of my Kindle, haha me and my technology all slick and suave. But alas that didn’t seem to be the case when she kept on looking and whispering to her cute friend. Aha! She thinks I am an attractive young man, how exciting! I did not know I could exude such charm…..Nope…she finally made eye contact laughed and then pointed to my pants. Huh? Whoa lady easy there, I am not like…..(looking down)

Ahhh yes….my fly was open.  Awesome…nope I’m not as cool as I thought.

But I digress, if only just to jab at my misadventures. Like I said, I dunno much about love, however I think it would start in an apartment building, a senior center to be more exact. No, its not a nice beach, or a romantic bridge, or two escalators, one going up, one going down, where right when the girl is about to see the guy he ties his shoe so that she can’t catch his eye but then they eventually fall in love in a convoluted and overwrought KBS drama. Nope it was a senior center, a one bedroom apartment, cozy but nothing fancy.

You see, I would visit there 1 or 2 times a month after church with my mom to see her parents. My grandpa was a jolly fellow, always smiling and he had sort of a big, goober bear, kind of belly. For me, visiting was a chore, because much like now, I was a petulant and spoiled little child. They didn’t have cable, always watched Korean TV and didn’t have anything exciting to play with. My mom would always go to make sure they were ok, cleaning stuff, bringing fruit and chastising my grandpa when he forgot to fly his zipper or tuck in his shirt. (I suppose the absentmindedness is genetic)

My grandma, at this time was in a wheelchair, confined mostly there due to a stroke. One side of her body was essentially paralyzed and as such, she had difficulty moving. She was always happy to see me for some reason, even if it meant watching me take the remote from her, change the channel from a Korean one to basketball or something and watch me watch TV. (I was young, I apologize) But its strange, because I think its places like these where you can really see what love is.

You see, I tell myself I understand the biblical perspective of love. The idea that husbands are to love their wives as Christ loved the church. Except I really don’t. But I know my grandpa tried his best to emulate that idea. While I could wax philosophical about how women are to be respected etc. (perhaps a utilitarian way to win brownie points with the ladies), my grandfather lived it. Its actually quite the pronouncement, a Herculean task if you will. But, I think my grandpa did his best to love her in the way Christ loved the church, not in some contrived way.  But he loved her, not in words but in his daily action.

1) The love is not circumstantial, based on fleeting passions. This calling of love means to love someone, even when it seems like there’s nothing to love anymore. Nowadays, it seems as though there’s always a quid pro quo to relationships, a “what have you done for me lately” sort of attitude that prevails. Alas, when we say Christ loved the church, we are also saying that he loved people who were in many ways “unlovable”, with flaws and imperfections too numerous to count. I am not loved because of my smarts, because I’ve done something special or because I am handsome. No, I am loved DESPITE my selfishness, my envy and all of the mistakes I made  You see, the Christian view tells me I am so unlovable, yet Christ still loved me. (Romans 5:8)

My grandparents (if you didn’t catch this by assumption) were old. Objectively, there was nothing “sexy” about my grandmother. Being confined to a wheelchair and being unable to move well on her own, meant my grandfather had to help her out of bed or when she needed to use the bathroom. He had to make sure to prepare her food everyday and also wheel her outside so she could get fresh air and see flowers bloom. There was no makeup on her face to hide her blemishes, she wasn’t really able to do much around the house and she needed his every attention. If my grandfather wanted to do something, he would have to consider leaving her home. It wasn’t like he could just go off and do his thing. Some might have found this too burdensome or arduous to handle. Really, what was there for him to “love”?  But for some reason he never found this a task too great.

I never saw him frustrated over his daily tasks. The fact that everything he did, he had to do for her also meant less time he had for himself. Yet, this didn’t matter. He always smiled and sometimes called my grandma his princess. Yet this princess had no tiara or dress on her. He would hold her curled up hand and help comb her thinning hair, help her sit up on her wheelchair when she slouched. Whatever semblance of youthful beauty was long gone, but in some ways I felt my grandmother was perfectly content. She didn’t need to prove anything to him or to anyone else, she had the proper attention and sufficient affection from the person who meant most to her.

2) One big principle that men should remember is that Christ also died for the church. I suppose we could all walk in front of a car and call it even but this is probably not quite what this verse meant. But indeed, my grandfather didn’t heroically dive in front of a car to save my grandmother or anything like that. No, one morning, he suffered a massive stroke and he had to be hospitalized.

My grandmother those next few days was crying out for her husband and unfortunately, he passed away a few days after his stroke. Everything he did, he also considered my grandmother and to the end he stayed with her. His death was the only way they would be separated. Caring for my grandma was an enormous responsibility yet my grandpa was up to task. In many ways he died for my grandma. Any greatness he wanted to realize now had to stay within the context of his spouse. He died to his passions, many of them long gone after her stroke. He died to any last ambitions, unless it involved taking care of her. He died to his pride, doing every house chore, helping to clean her and feed her, finding little time for his own leisure. He died to himself, knowing that its not just his life to live but living as if they were one flesh. And this was enough. Carrying his wife’s burdens yet loving her the same.

My grandfather was a faithful man. I speak of a Jesus I know, but I think he really knew this Jesus.

Valentine’s day probably brings out certain desires and wants in all of us, but I hope though we all really look for love. I don’t think love is Feb. 14th. I think love is everyday and not even death can do them part.

1 John 3:18

No matter how hardcore she pretends to be Amy Chua actually does not subscribe to that philosophy, check it (hat tip, Neil Shenai): Why Chinese Mothers are Superior. My parents would probably call her soft.

But I am sure there are plenty of immigrants kids who have experienced their share of punishment not of the “go to your room (with an xbox, tv and computer” philosophy and instead go the “I am holding a broom that I will hit you with if you do not continue practicing your violin” route. Overall, I agree that one of the biggest problems is a lack of discipline. The sheer amount of disrespect I saw towards teachers was startling (If you don’t give me an A, I don’t care, my dad is a lawyer and he will make sure you get fired). I don’t think this freedom made them particularly clever or witty, but just confirmed they were insufferable and entitled pricks.

I think one thing that bothers me about Chua’s article though is her perspective in writing it as a current mother. Perhaps her perspective would have been better if she wrote about her own experiences more in the vein of “I was raised in this strict style which was difficult to go through at the time but turned out well as I thoroughly enjoying the fruits (Yale Law school professorship etc.) from the foundation my parents set forth.” Instead, it seems as though she seems to wear it as a badge of honor. I am fan of gratuitous and random beatdowns as much as the next guy, but I dunno if I was her kid, I would be a bit annoyed that my mom is parading around telling everyone she calls her kids garbage.

It reminds me of  a time when I went on a trip with my buddies. Four of us ( children of Korean, Egyptian, Indian and Bangledeshian? parents) versus four white guys. We played what we called the “binary thumbs up/down game”, simple question must be answered with a thumbs up or down. No soft maybes, no it depends. We got to the question, “Beating your kids good or bad?” The white kids of course all vehemently opposed what they perceived as “child abuse”. The immigrants kids talked about their own battle stories about, how a random smack across the head was par for the course. The horror of our more fair-skinned peers was certainly entertaining.

I kind of disagree though about the formulaic process Asian parents instill in their kids lives. Granted, culturally it makes sense as I know my parents pretty much gave up everything to start anew here thus following a straightforward gameplan (hard work, stringed instruments and SAT) made sense. Still, I think one can be sufficiently disciplinary without being overly controlling.

I wrote about this before: Game Theory, Koreans and Hagwon. Read it if you can, but perhaps some of the passivity and lack of gumption stereotypically attributed to Asians could possibly be traced to the way we are raised. Following a formula for academic success will certainly make you a good intern, analyst, associate etc. but does it help you become a partner, managing director or CEO?

Thoughts?

My 2 readers, I apologize for the lack of updates….alas work has increased and thus I have turned back to blogging to divert my attention….

(Thanks to Jon Han for help with the art)

This is incredible, seriously if I had this at work, I probably would still be employed right now. Countless times when I rush through things, I would write up a nice little e-mail and totally forget to attach the 7865th iteration of a pitchbook that nobody reads.

Try it, type in “Attached is” in your e-mail but don’t attach anything. Google will kindly remind you that you are being absent-minded and silly!

So I ask, “What is Google going to come up with next?”

I’ve got a few answers here of my own….

I could definitely see it become useful when you do the ole carbon copy the guy you are totally ragging on….

Or if Google knows you are probably not being the smartest boyfriend….

I think it’d be good if it also cut out some of the more annoying types of e-mails:

Or how about those e-mail signatures, yes we know your mother is proud that you went to an Ivy-League institution:

How about your buddies who are in finance who feign intelligence with incoherent meaningless phrases

Sometimes, Google just needs to be paternalistic and tell it to you straight-up

I have a feeling this is going to be what Google tells me (and a few friends?)  in a few years:

Mr. Mcdoof has finally gotten off his lazy butt and put the videos on youtube.

Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/user/conspicuouscynic

Gotta love the innocence and joy of kids….

Go to 1:30……(Warning Explicit)

Check out the new video

Thanks for your support!

I would always remember visiting my mother’s grandparents after church. I never really enjoyed going there because it was far away and there was nothing to do at their small apartment. Most of time when we visited, my 할아버지 (grandfather) would give me and my brother a piece of candy hoping this would melt away our concerns that we would not have much to do during the next few hours. They would be watching a Korean TV channel but I would always show up and turn it to a sports game or show in English that I preferred watching.

I never fully realized how difficult his life was at the time. My grandmother had suffered a stroke and he took it upon himself to take care of her. The right side of her body was of little use so every daily task was made infinitely harder. She couldn’t cut her own food, so everything needed to cut into bite-sized chunks. She could not move well on her own, so he would always help her use an exercise bike for 10 minutes just to get her blood moving. Whenever she needed a helping hand, she would cry out, “아버지, 아버지 (father, father).  Most of the time I saw them together he would sit next to her on her wheelchair and grasp her gnarled hand as they sat silently and peacefully together. My grandfather didn’t ever seem like his life was difficult or that he was struggling to get by each day. Without complaint, he got up each morning to take care of the person he loved so dearly.

My grandfather passed away around this time in the summer. He suffered a stroke and passed away quickly. It was a tough time for our family, especially my grandmother. Each night, she would cry out 아버지, 아버지 (father, father) only to realize he couldn’t be there anymore for her. I started learning that the beauty in their relationship was unseen and ineffable. I can’t seem to grasp that right now, but perhaps love can show me what better really is. My grandfather’s love showed me the importance of commitment and sacrifice.

I am not sure what commitment is, I am not even sure if I could ever make commitment. I tell myself that I will commit to studying hard during law school, which of course means writing garrulous and personal blog posts. I live in a culture that reminds me that there are always choices, in fact “better” choices. This is antithetical to the idea that I need to stay grounded, that “better” is not always better. I am not sure in my own life I can see this, but when I watched my grandfather I know that even when beauty fades, that charm is fleeting, that more things doesn’t equal more happiness. My mom would always tell me that he would always call my grandmother his “princess” whenever they did things together, whether he would wheel her outside to enjoy a nice sunny day or eat together the simple foods that he had made or bought.

My grandfather a simple man, taught me much about faith.

My faith tells me that in order for me to live, I need to “lay my life down for others”, that I need to “die to myself”. This paradox is not the way I view life. My needs are of first and fundamental importance to me. What I really need is to learn a thing or two about sacrifice.

My grandfather’s devotion has taught me much about sacrifice. His life was never his own, but he lived in service to my grandmother and showed me he could even give life through his dedication. They would pray together before each meal to a Father they believed held a deeper promise for them. Never once, did I see this man complain about the fact that his handicapped wife was a burden or chore, he loved her too deeply to even let such thoughts develop.  Some people say he was too nice, whether it was his willingness to pay for all of his friends he knew whenever he took the bus or whether he would smile even during the toughest of times.

This sort of positive thinking extended and showed me a different aspect of faith: a hope for redemption. Whenever he would bring my grandmother to exercise and she said she didn’t want to do it, he would always find a way to coax her into exercising, telling her “you’re going to get better”. Everyday he seemed convinced she would be able to walk. Any doctor could tell him this would not be possible, but of course why would anybody dare say otherwise? I might dare say he was thinking of redemption far greater than just that current situation.

There’s a promise of redemption that I have as well. That when I have days where I cry out, “Father, Father”, that I know even though my insecurities remind me of my greatest issues and failures, my faith tells me I am deeply cared for. I go through life wondering how I can go through the next day, I am reminded of a Father that tells me He is by my side, telling me to fight on. I see a picture where even though my body will soon fall apart and breakdown, the resurrection tells me, “things will get better”, that I will be able to walk again.

Perhaps my goal shouldn’t always be to seek out the “better” choices. No, “better” isn’t better. Better is love. Not the asinine and sappy love of the movies, young ones frolicking about with not a single worry. My grandfather showed me that love is white-haired and wrinkly, grasping a gnarled hand damaged by a stroke; a quiet and lasting commitment that beats out my fleeting thoughts on what is true love.

I am watching this video:

My two readers have told me that I should really write about this in my typical sarcastic banter, telling me I should write a post and really rail into these guys and the producers for making such an asinine show. I suppose I could rant here and talk about how idiotic these guys are, how they need to get lives and how reality TV is the most self-aggrandizing form of entertainment. There might be some validity to that, but something tells me that is too easy.

For instance, I never understood why so many of my upper-middle class Asians needed to imitate every aspect of “ghetto culture” when they themselves never lived in anything resembling an inner-city. I despise the kid that needs to drop an F-bomb to show he’s “hardcore”. 99% of high school smokers seem like people who don’t have a backbone and just want to do what seems cool and edgy.  I find it irritating that some kid who lives in upper-middle class suburbia will actually tell you, “let’s take this outside so I can kick your ass”.

But before I continue, I think I also need to realize that perhaps there is something more insidious brewing in my own heart. People watch these shows, not for the noble lessons they learn or the meaningful themes they can extract but for other reasons. One big thought that I think pervades most of the people watching this show is:

I’m not like them, I am not a loser.

When we watch these shows, we undoubtedly mock whoever is on it. Thank God I am not like that douchebag, with his popcorn muscles and fake tan. Or thank God I am not like that girl who is such a skank and attention-whore. This reality TV only attracts those who are so insecure they need the attention of a TV show to remind them of their self-worth. In essence, a show like this reassures us of our own self-worth. What makes us so special? Maybe nothing, but by comparing ourselves to these clown, perhaps we can tell subconsciously remind ourselves we are at least better than some of them. But I am not even sure that’s true.

I see a bunch of kids who are desperate for attention, even its notoriety of the “Snooki” type. We all want to be loved in some way, damn it if it means making ourselves look like fools. Of course, these reality TV show kids are more blatant and more viscerally disturbing but at the heart of it, what makes them any different from those who choose more refined paths?

This leads to my second point when we say “I know I am not a loser”. I hate to speak for others here (or perhaps I do too much of it), but I understand that my own life is an up and down battle with insecurity. I get irritated when people don’t fully recognize my accomplishments, I get annoyed when I say something and nobody listens, I get depressed when people tell me I am not good enough at something. In my mind, the most important reality TV show is me and I hope that everybody likes what they are watching.

I am not so sure what to say about these kids. I don’t have a bunch of tattoos and earrings. I rarely find myself partying late at night.  Yet, at the heart of a show like that, I see a deeper reflection of self on the screen. I don’t need to act like a buffoon daily to realize maybe in many ways, I just don’t want anyone to think I am loser. So something tells me to do better. Inadequacy can be solved if I go to a better school, get a better job, get better friends, get more friends etc. Sure its not acting like a clown on TV, but attention and approval is what I really desire. In my own ways I lack a backbone, daily making decisions based solely on the perception of others. Sounds kind of depressing right?

Let me throw in a different reality TV story here. When we look at the Susan Boyle story, how awesome was it to see this frumpy, quirky and not so sexy woman astound all of us with her beautiful voice. I don’t need to go too deep to capture the joy of the video. Take a look at the video again and watch her reaction as each judge affirms her selection. She can’t believe it! Piers? Amanda? Simon! They all tell her in their own ways that she was indeed special.

We relate to this underdog story, because we see a bit of Susan Boyle in ourselves. There is definitely something unsexy about all of us, something that makes us far from being the belle of the ball or the master of the universe. As a Christian I know this isn’t the end either. You see perhaps a surly member of the audience could have stood up and told Susan that she sucked at singing and it would have made no difference. She had found the “right” source of approval. Who cares what somebody said, the authorities of the competition had already spoken.

As a Christian, I sometimes forget the “right” source of approval in my life; the most important Guy is watching the reality TV show of me. I know I don’t react the way Susan did when the judges gave their remarks;  I still fidget at even the idea that someone knows that I am a vast collection of disappointment and failure. This is my “underdog” story. I know deep inside, I am nothing special, nothing sexy, in fact probably somebody undeserving of anything more than this life I have. The cross tells me that God knows this. The cross tells me of how far off  I really am.  Yet it also tells me not as an underdog no more, but of somebody He approves, somebody He affirms. I need not worry so much about all of my insecurities; something tells me to remind myself the Authority has already spoken for me.