eggbop

What I've been working on

2010-03-10T17:52:53Z

instead of writing blog entries. Here's a short piece, a first draft just finished today... Eat when hot! Eat it now! Eat it now! I’d take my first bite, watch the sun climb through our store windows, and the rush of salty-crisp pork and thick melted cheese against the fleet buttery chunks of crisp-soft bread would waken me, give me the first real experience of the day. Some strong, good coffee from a thermos, a few swallows of orange juice, and I felt great. But obviously I can’t say this to the Key Foods guy so instead I look at his food rolling toward the cashier on the belt: Four organic Cornish hens, one pint of organic heavy cream, and a half dozen brown free roaming, Omega-3 rich, organic eggs. No doubt this man bought his foods locally. Probably was able to source his meals fresh like the Parisian he was in his mind, buying fresh bread, cheese and meat for the day, every day, with little in his freezer and certainly not much processed. He was playing his part perfectly, and was so secure he could stare at my cart agape, not even bothering to hide his disgust, and looking straight into my face to make sure I got his message. The irony is I am an organic gardener. Or was, until we moved back to the East Coast, to Brooklyn from Los Angeles. I was eight months pregnant with our first and it was time we acted on our plans to settle back in the east permanently to be near our families, and plant roots as a family. In LA, I’d felt suffocated by the culture, the unchanging sun, the relentless focus on diet and exercise and most of all the pervasive dominance of THE INDUSTRY in every aspect of life. I ached for the variety of people in New York, how I could meet ten different kinds of people and have ten totally different conversations, simply by stepping out onto the sidewalk or sitting in a bar. I preferred my neighbors depressed but authentic rather than blithe. But I loved our home, a sweet, Spanish-style house from the 1920’s, once owned by Esther Williams. The dining room opened up through wide doors onto a wisteria-covered patio, and here we enjoyed dinner parties and late night grills by our kidney shaped pool. I’d managed a kitchen garden to one side full of heirloom lettuce and carrots, tomatoes and peppers, had containers of all manner of herb, dill and parsley, cilantro and basil, three or four kinds of mint for the cocktails I’d meant to infuse but used mostly for cooking Thai or fresh squeezed lemonade. Eventually I learned to cultivate my own seeds, and began researching city restrictions on keeping backyard hens. From seed to table I called it, my motto for daily living, poring over chicken catalogues late at night. My late-night fantasy? One dairy cow, half a dozen Heirloom hens, no rooster, one or two miniature goats and a share in local cows and poultry, freshly and humanely slaughtered for my walk-in temperature controlled freezer. Oh, and a root cellar. And wide-open planks for shelves covering an entire wall of my Mexican-tiled kitchen for the large glass jars of all my different grains, beans and rice. I’m becoming a master of grain, mixing texture and nutrition and what will simply keep daily in our family’s rice cooker. But the judgment? The judgment on this guy’s face or the woman my husband ran into on a late night run to McDonald’s brow-beaten by his pregnant wife who needed her first Big Mac in five years or else she was going to die. I’d never think you were the kind, she’d said. My husband had slunk away feeling the giant yellow M on the plastic food bag burning into him, blaring his location at every step. This I could do without. The feeling that judgment laces together the current national discourse on food, pulling us away from the glorious potential of thoughtful discussion. Instead I’d recommend a nice slice of humility, of using one’s enlightenment not simply to feel virtuous, or as I often suspect, to be even more a master of your own universe, but as a precipice to another, one made up of other people’s lives, your neighbors and your country. How food connects us all this way and what a wonderful opportunity to find new ways to relate. To help. To alleviate suffering. Be gentle I want to say. For every bite of pesticide-free and humanely raised Cornish hen, a ration of genetically engineered and processed soy meal is landing in a starving country now. And saving someone’s life. End of lecture. Or, almost. Because obviously food is a sensitive issue. A vulnerability in ourselves that can invite both shame and goodness. It’s why so many suffer from disorders regarding food, either eating or not eating in the privacy of their lives. It is also exactly why it is a cornerstone of religion, why fasting and feasting and marking of pure and impure foods are essential, because food is a kind of daily transubstantiation. Bread becomes Meaning in an ordinary act. The Beefaroni in my pantry nods to the Red Hot Chips crouching behind the boxes of granola on my refrigerator. I usually get these when the mood or PMS strikes, at the deli near the Projects six blocks from my gentrified Brooklyn neighborhood, but this time I scored a bag at the corner Rite Aid, across from Trader Joe’s. I got in line with my bag of chips, behind MacLaren strollers and hipster customers, and felt the security guard, a large black man with red-rimmed eyes fighting to stay awake by his post, looking at me. I catch him reading the label on the bag of chips in my hand and startled he looks into my face. I nod. He nods back, and grins, giving me a silent high-five. Only black and Latin people love Red Hot potato chips, along with Pork Rinds and Slim Jims. And me, I want to add. They remind me where I’m from. I’d proudly open two cans of Beefaroni with our new automatic opener and make dinner for my little sister and brother. We’re home from school but mom won’t be back until well past nighttime from the store. Since dad died she runs it with a single helper, a kid she hired in the neighborhood to do the heavy jobs. I heat the Beefaroni on the stove and serve it with garlic bread I learned to make on my own. Slices of bread with bits of butter to melt on it evenly in the toaster oven and sprinkled generously with garlic powder. Soft steamed broccoli with cheddar cheese melted in the microwave, I make sure my siblings eat a full portion. They are six and seven, and I take enormous pride in making a meal for them. American-style. Just like I’d read about all my young life. ]]>

superhero

2010-02-09T15:43:33Z

If I could draw, I'd make a superhero whose special power was super nunchi. He'd sit at the table, say between Israel and Palestine, and use his super nunchi to understand where each side was coming from, what each side wanted. He'd use his super empathy, so each side knew felt what they felt, and they'd both feel heard. Then he'd weigh the balance with his special sense of Korean justice, balancing the needs among the group over his own self-interest and create a story where both sides could see themselves in it. Might would be an option still because Koreans are practical. They've had to be. At the of the day he'd withdraw into the shadows, and drink. Probably too much. Super nunchi wears on you but he'll fight as hard as he can not to give in - to black nunchi. These would be the local villains who try to destroy our superhero... An ancient halmoni made of flames, consumed by her anger. A villain in a suit, the dark king of his home, ruling with his fists. The perpetually lost, teenagers who can never find their way, who cause suffering to all those who come near. Black nunchi is the worst in those who know exactly what their power is worth, and use it for their own gain.

Lame!

2010-02-02T14:03:00Z

Argh. I've been wanting to write the perfect entry about my lameness at keeping up this blog but the being lame part still gets in the way. Part of it is my inability to find balance in my life, how to carve up the twenty four hours between two kids, a husband, and myself, plus basic home keeping (which I am proud to report my husband does at least half of and still it is such a struggle!), plus writing, my web business, and then having quality family time and husband/wife time! Does anybody have any tips? Maybe if we pool our hard earned lessons then it will amount to something! I would love to hear. I am still working on my longer writing projects though, with progress. Last year I took a serious turn into non-fiction and it was greatly humbling to my fiction-lauding, high minded self. These are some hard to hone skills. But I have inspiration, works I keep by my desk and in case anyone is curious or maybe has these same books - they are Joan Didion's We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live (the entirety of her writing!), Jo Ann Beard's The Boys of My Youth, Junot Diaz' Drown, and Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies. If you'll notice, two are non-fiction and two are fiction. This is because I am most interested in the area of writing where these two overlap - both Joan Didion and Jo Ann Beard use fiction techniques to write non-fiction, where Junot Diaz and Jumpha Lahiri write fiction which can only be read as truer than life. Also, Diaz and Lahiri write ethnic stories but have managed to escape the clutches of the ethnic sub-sections of the bookstore. A topic I am most interested in - when Asian-American lit. or other 'ethnic' lit. is/or becomes American Literature. One I believe creates an experience that only similar-cultured folks can relate to while the other creates a universal experience. How do they do that? This is what I think about when not writing. Anyway I am so glad at least some of you forgot to take me off your RSS feed. The comments make the writing-about-very-specific-things-in-the-Internet-void feel like discourse, and it gives me a nudge when things get slow.

John Yoo

2010-01-21T14:27:51Z

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Daily Show: Exclusive - John Yoo Extended Interview Pt. 1

www.thedailyshow.com

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I've always been deeply troubled by what I call the North Korean aspect of our culture. It's the part of being Korean that lends itself toward extremism, authoritarianism and to some degree, self nihilism. Think: Korean student suicide, Self-Immolation -perhaps most famously demonstrated by the soccer fan who set himself on fire on international TV. So when I heard years ago John Yoo, the lawyer who essentially authorized 'torture' under the Bush administration, I was not at all surprised he was a member from my home church in Philadelphia, Young-Sang Presbyterian. Our church, like most Korean churches, is conservative - in large part because conservative evangelicalism coincides exactly with Confucian and Authoritarian mores. Obey your parents? Of course. Obey God without question? Of course. And who will tell you what God wants you to do? The Pastor. Treat the Pastor like a mini-pope even though it's not part of the Protestant movement? Yes! And so forth. Still I expected to hate John Yoo when he came on the Jon Stewart show to promote his book. It was clear to me Jon Stewart felt even more so. But I think we were all surprised to find John Yoo was not this self-satisfied, smug right winger but he was sincere, and vulnerable, and seems genuinely and constantly surprised at the level of anger directed toward him. And it hit me while watching him, that he was this smart, driven kid - the pride and joy of his parents and community - who did what he was told, just as he had been raised. I think on some base level, he believes he was serving God. This was the kind of thing that left the deepest marks on me. We were founding members of Young-Sang, now one of the largest Korean churches in the States, and to some degree it has become a kind of ghost following me around, because where I am from will always affect me - even when I actively choose different things. It also marks me as being unable to left-wing knee jerk against conservatives or the religious left. In Brooklyn, in New York, I can't think of a less popular, less understood thing that to say you are Christian, or go to a traditional church. And even I have a certain impatience with young evangelicals, especially when I see they what they are up against - a kind of naive, extreme faith that they use to create certainty in their lives. And for which they pay heavily. But still, I have this deep empathy and love for Korean churches, for Korean parents, for this next generation that have created a kind of American-Korean 2.0 version of the church they grew up in - it has it's place.

2010-01-17T17:04:05Z

My grandparents have seven kids. And those seven kids got married and had at least two of their own kids - more or less in the same order as they were born. Eldest aunt had a kid first. Second Aunt had her kid, roughly the same difference in years between her and her older sister. I was third. Because mom is the third eldest Aunt. And so forth with some blurring among the younger kids but in good Confucian style, we knew our places not only in our own families, but in the greater family when at holidays my grandmother and grandfather were the head of the table. For as long as I can remember our family has gathered at New Year’s and one of the cousins’ favorite things – besides the games, the karoake, and the adults urging college aged children to perform and sing songs, the feasting, and the jjul (bowing)- was receiving our sebeh envelopes from each Aunt & Uncle pair, flanked on both sides of my Grandparents, and reading what they’d written. They almost always attempted to write our names, mostly because they gave us money according to our age and didn’t want to mix it up. It irked my sister for years that she received half of what I did even when she graduated college. Grandpa wrote the best envelopes. Over the years my sister Becky received envelopes that said, “Beggy,” “Libekah,” and once she was given an envelope that said, “Rebekah” but then our cousin Erica, who is the second eldest in her family but in reality closer to my age then my sister, got an envelope that said, “Bekki.” (Actually I want to say this often happened to my cousin who’d have a small identity crisis each time) Throw in some great grand children, and I imagine my grandfather now spends a good hour before New Year’s, painstakingly writing out names on the envelopes. More than a few bear his earlier efforts, guesses would simply have a line penciled through, and it wasn’t unusual to have two or three different spellings or entirely different names crossed out on your envelope before he settled on one. When I married a “Raul”, and resisted my mother’s best efforts to rename him from the Bible (How about Peter? Or John? John is best name!), my entire family came to believe his name was really Lau, and spelled it that way because that’s how they pronounced it. So when it came to my own kids I had little expectation that anyone would know how to spell their names, especially the eldest, Raul Andres. I was particularly charmed though by this year’s envelope from Grandpa, the sweet note, how he formatted it as though he were mailing it, and the mysterious Nou following Andre. I’ve no idea what I’m going to do with all these envelopes I’ve saved over the years ... but each one causes a funny little pang in my heart, and one day I’m sure to weep over them.

2010

2010-01-17T16:06:16Z

My idea of 1000 words

2009-07-16T02:05:55Z

Only at New York Hot Dog & Coffee at Leroy and Bleeker. See the brief article here...

In Spain ...

2009-07-04T09:24:29Z

Sorry eggbop for the abrupt summer departure. Things were crazy at the end of the school year and we had a few sleepless nights before leaving for Spain. We get back for a few days only to turn around and leave to help prepare for Emo's wedding in Philadelphia! So... a few photos and hopefully one or two more check-ins until August. Hope everyone is faring well.

Enmeshment and the KA

2009-05-26T19:37:09Z

One of the issues I’ve been exploring in my writing is enmeshment. The thing I trip on is that the idea is Western, with a base ideal that we are individuals first and foremost. Enmeshment is the problem between two individuals who can’t separate, hence “co-dependency”. It’s an easy thing to see in the case of say, drug addicts, or enabling spouses, think Sid & Nancy, or women who can’t leave their abusive husbands. It’s more elusive in the long running genre of writing about daughters and their mothers, where it is often a battle of wills and daughters struggling to emancipate. It’s hard though to find this in Asian cultures – where the base ideal is the group, and the individual serves the family. The idea of teenage rebellion and departure from the family home at eighteen or twenty-one, esp. for a young woman, is foreign in Asian cultures where the idea of harmony is supremely valued, and ideally, a daughter is so cherished and valued there would be nothing for her to rebel against. (I know, this is an idealized example.) As a KA I’ve seen a lot of conflict over this, where the Korean selves war against the Western parts of ourselves. KA families are torn apart by this, esp. by children who bitterly resent the Confucian authority of their parents ending in years of silence and anger. In Korea, this problem doesn’t exist in the same way. Anger of course is always a Korean issue, but the way KA’s, being born and raised here, internalize the Western values of being unique, independent naturally sparks wild against traditional Korean mores leading to a very real threat for KA’s who feel stifled, then oppressed, before in a sense fleeing for their lives. I often think this is the true divide between the KA community as well. Korean-Koreans who are more comfortable in community with other KA’s have less conflict about being group or family oriented. Those who have found themselves early concerned with their ‘voice’, drawn early to images of folks who became known for their individuality – artists namely – and found themselves often unwelcome in Korean Korean circles for reasons invisible at the time – these are the ones who go on to be more KA or almost completely ‘American’. These are extremes of course. Back to the point though. Western psychology to me often has geographical boundaries. And the compelling themes for me in family relationships are the ways individuals find meaning and fulfillment by acceding to what’s best for the group. Korean mothers are famous for the way they mother, and part of that is they way they sacrifice, and throw themselves wholly into their children. I’m not wording this well but I think you know what I mean. And because it’s so close to this ideal of unconditional love I find Koreans in large parts of their inner selves in utter defiance of Western mores, and that is where they are also at odds with their daily life in the States. But these are the happy moments, the ones where it is easy to switch from being traditional at home, with your parents, to a different mode in your work place or with friends, and so it is okay to say there are huge grey unknowable areas outside the reach of Psychology. On the flip side: An acquaintance once recounted the story of her brother who moved away to another state after college and fell in love with a Korean girl. For whatever reason, his family completely opposed the marriage and gave him as close to an ultimatum as possible. He broke up with the girl, moved back home and cut his hair. The sister while telling this story still felt along the lines of the emotions from that time. I was surprised to learn much later, through a third party, that the brother soon after cut off all his ties to the family. This same conflict happens all the time in my own home, at my mother’s. My sister and brother struggle constantly with their own individuality and yet loving the traditional Korean structure of our home. That they happened to be born into a family with especially strong female personalities adds another complication, that their tradition steeped father died while they were four and five, adds another. But at core I see this everywhere with KA’s, this war within over what I call the Eastern parts of their souls versus the West. And so I see the case for a unique pathology, unique to KA’s. Maybe even a case for one body having two souls; it gets crowded. I don’t think it is enmeshment, after all. I think it’s bigger than that, an impossible attempt to integrate two equal and opposite ways of being.

A Wedding!

2009-05-25T14:35:58Z

Sniffle. My little sister is getting married! This summer. If there are any crafty folk out there with Korean themed ideas, we'd love to hear 'em. She's chosen Korean ducks as a motif since her wedding will be lakeside. Nice, right? Clever bride.

I love you Hyung-ah

2009-04-23T22:10:24Z

Tonight as I was putting the boys to yoh (Korean style bed) my two year old Gabriel says, "Me love you Momma. Me love you Hyung-ah." (Hyung-ah is the kid term for Older Brother) Silence from Hyung, who is four years old. I nudge him and say: "Tell him you love him!" Hyung, really quickly: "I love you Momma and Gabriel." Gabriel squeals. Then, "Me so happy Momma! Me so happy!" Then as if he can't believe it: "I love you Mom! I love you Hyung-ah!" Again, silence. Gabriel, haltingly: "Tell me Hyung-ah!"

The Korean

2009-04-22T16:08:27Z

On my list of things to do included adding a section for other blogs on my site. I'm not really a full member of the blogosphere but part-time (as if you couldn't tell by my postings!) but I do so enjoy the form. In any case, one of the Grace's sent me this link yesterday: askakorean.blogspot.com After reading a few posts I seriously considered whether I should stop writing my own blog. This guy is an expert writer though for the uninitiated you should know his writing style is very aggressive (surprise, Koreans are aggressively opinionated?!) and voicy, but it does feel as though he is genuinely and deeply passionate about Korean and KA matters. Another weird thing is that the writer is best blog friends with The Mexican which some of you might know, is my husband's handle. It almost feels like that pop sci-fi book where the main character finds out he is just a duplicate of the real him. And I'M the duplicate. Anyhow. Here's an excerpt from one of his funny posts titled: Ask A Korean! News: Open Letter to Non-Asian People Dear Black, Hispanic, and White People: My name is the Korean, the host of a popular blog of Ask A Korean! The Korean keeps the blog in order to edify non-Koreans, and more generally non-Asians. That means you. The Korean had been thinking that he was making good progress, but visiting a region in America mostly populated by you people made the Korean realize that more direct approach is necessary. Therefore, the Korean presents the behavioral guide of interacting with Asian Americans. - When you meet an Asian person in America, listen to the person's English. If it's fluent, assume the person is American. Do not say "Oh, your English is so great!" unless you want a punch in the face. - Do not ask "Where are you from?" to an Asian person unless you are reasonably certain that s/he is outside of his/her American hometown. If the Asian answers, say, "Los Angeles", do not follow up with "where are you originally from?" or "where are your parents from?" Our precise ethnicity is none of your fucking business. Do we ever ask you whether you are from Dominican Republic, Ireland, or Ivory Coast? - Do not holler any Asian celebrity name at any Asian person. The Korean is 6'1", and plays basketball frequently. If the Korean hears one more "Yao Ming!" from one of you, he will shove a basketball up your ass. - Do not say "gonnichiwa" to an Asian person in America, unless you are absolutely positive that the Asian person is a Japanese tourist, or you are a host/hostess of a Japanese restaurant greeting an Asian customer. (Although if you are a host/hostess, the proper greeting would be iratsaimashe.) There are relatively few Japansese Americans in America compared to Chinese or Korean Americans, so you are most likely wrong; and if you had been reading the blog, Korean people really don't like being mistaken for a Japanese. Chinese people are not all that different either. - On second thought, don't say any Asian phrase to any Asian person, unless you are at least conversational in the language. It's the 21st century, people. We are no longer impressed by your amazing ability to say "hello". .... click the above link to continue reading.

Documentary Alert!

2009-04-17T23:09:56Z

A tip from a blog friend emailed this today: The Korea Society engages in the gender struggle with “Korean Women Filmmakers: A Screening and Discussion with Yim Soon-Rye” on Wednesday April 22 @ 6pm with one of the country's rare female directors screening her documentary about women in Korea's film industry as well as her short film. The Korea Society 950 3rd Avenue 8th Floor NY, NY 10022 (212) 759-7524 I am so there, a bag of ojing-oh (squid), old school style!

Tae Eun Yoo

2009-04-16T01:04:14Z

Found via Loobylu Tae Eun Yoo also has a lovely etsy shop where you can buy her prints for $25 and a website with her portfolio!

Korean Dance Party

2009-03-18T14:15:08Z