Sunday, August 29, 2004
I had quite an adventure getting up here to Ithaca last weekend.
I had a 11 AM flight out of Newark airport to Pittsburgh, where I was supposed to catch a 12:30 connection to Ithaca. I dutifully arrived at Newark at 9 AM, and after a hasty goodbye to my coworkers, checked my baggage and sat around for a couple hours until my flight began to board. Our US Airways plane sat on the runway for the next 3 hours, until finally the captain muttered something about bad weather and let us off at the gate from which we boarded. It turned out that the connection which I had missed while sitting on the runway was the last flight out of Pittsburgh to Ithaca. A US Airways agent gave me a new ticket, and told me to pick up my baggage, take a cab to LaGuardia, and get on a 5:30 flight to Ithaca.
As it turned out, they managed to lose my baggage in the process of transferring me to the flight out of LaGuardia, and I spent the next 3 hours in Newark Airport, standing in line and talking to various agents who rudely brushed me off and generally did not help me track down my bags. By the time I found out where my baggage was, I had missed the last flight from LaGuardia to Ithaca, as well. When I tiredly explained my situation to a US Airways agent, she told me that she would give me a ticket for a flight the next morning, but that I would have to pay for overnight housing myself. I explained very clearly that it was cheaper (and faster) for me to take the train up to New York City, and from there take a bus to Ithaca, than it was for me to stay overnight at a hotel at Newark Airport. The agent still refused to offer me a free hotel room, and yet, she looked somewhat surprised when I asked to have my ticket refunded, so that I could get on the train to NYC.
(Ironically enough, my bus from NYC to Ithaca broke down in the middle of upstate New York, so that we were stuck in a 40 degree night from midnight to 1 AM.)
Of course, this is just an amusing story, but I have noticed over time (see the second entry from April 27th) that there is, in America, a definite culture of low expectations in public transportation systems: both from the workers who maintain these systems, and the people who use them. From the Greyhound worker who refused to sell me a bus ticket because she wanted to get off of work early, to the US Airways agent who seemed surprised that I would not allow the airliner to rip me off, it seems that we in America have come to accept that using public transportation is supposed to be an uncomfortable, time-consuming process. This is a contrast for me to the public transit systems of Korea, that are by and large efficient, inexpensive, and run by helpful and motivated workers.
I haven't been able to come up with a good explanation for this culture of low expectation, when it comes to public transportation systems in the US. However, I have often noticed in America a strange sort of worshipping of private transportation, and in particular the private automobile, which might lead to a disdainful sort of outlook by Americans on public transportation. After all, if working for a public transportation company means your customers are the "losers" who could not afford private automobiles and jets, you aren't likely to be motivated to work very hard, are you? It is a rather inglorious job, at best.
And I don't really know what to make of the American obsession with automobiles, but maybe I should comment on some of the ramifications of such a culture. More on that later.
I had a 11 AM flight out of Newark airport to Pittsburgh, where I was supposed to catch a 12:30 connection to Ithaca. I dutifully arrived at Newark at 9 AM, and after a hasty goodbye to my coworkers, checked my baggage and sat around for a couple hours until my flight began to board. Our US Airways plane sat on the runway for the next 3 hours, until finally the captain muttered something about bad weather and let us off at the gate from which we boarded. It turned out that the connection which I had missed while sitting on the runway was the last flight out of Pittsburgh to Ithaca. A US Airways agent gave me a new ticket, and told me to pick up my baggage, take a cab to LaGuardia, and get on a 5:30 flight to Ithaca.
As it turned out, they managed to lose my baggage in the process of transferring me to the flight out of LaGuardia, and I spent the next 3 hours in Newark Airport, standing in line and talking to various agents who rudely brushed me off and generally did not help me track down my bags. By the time I found out where my baggage was, I had missed the last flight from LaGuardia to Ithaca, as well. When I tiredly explained my situation to a US Airways agent, she told me that she would give me a ticket for a flight the next morning, but that I would have to pay for overnight housing myself. I explained very clearly that it was cheaper (and faster) for me to take the train up to New York City, and from there take a bus to Ithaca, than it was for me to stay overnight at a hotel at Newark Airport. The agent still refused to offer me a free hotel room, and yet, she looked somewhat surprised when I asked to have my ticket refunded, so that I could get on the train to NYC.
(Ironically enough, my bus from NYC to Ithaca broke down in the middle of upstate New York, so that we were stuck in a 40 degree night from midnight to 1 AM.)
Of course, this is just an amusing story, but I have noticed over time (see the second entry from April 27th) that there is, in America, a definite culture of low expectations in public transportation systems: both from the workers who maintain these systems, and the people who use them. From the Greyhound worker who refused to sell me a bus ticket because she wanted to get off of work early, to the US Airways agent who seemed surprised that I would not allow the airliner to rip me off, it seems that we in America have come to accept that using public transportation is supposed to be an uncomfortable, time-consuming process. This is a contrast for me to the public transit systems of Korea, that are by and large efficient, inexpensive, and run by helpful and motivated workers.
I haven't been able to come up with a good explanation for this culture of low expectation, when it comes to public transportation systems in the US. However, I have often noticed in America a strange sort of worshipping of private transportation, and in particular the private automobile, which might lead to a disdainful sort of outlook by Americans on public transportation. After all, if working for a public transportation company means your customers are the "losers" who could not afford private automobiles and jets, you aren't likely to be motivated to work very hard, are you? It is a rather inglorious job, at best.
And I don't really know what to make of the American obsession with automobiles, but maybe I should comment on some of the ramifications of such a culture. More on that later.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
The chairman of the ruling political party in Korea has stepped down, after admitting that his father was a collaborator with the Japanese during the occupation. I find his statement "I deeply apologize and seek forgiveness [of the Koreans who fought for independence]" amusing, because the Koreans who were resistance fighters during the occupation went on to set up the state of North Korea, where their children live (and starve) today. If he really wanted their forgiveness, then maybe he should talk less and try to arrange more food aid to be sent to the people his father wronged in the past.
Apologizing for the past means taking responsibility for the present, after all.
Mr. Shin's resignation is, of course, more a political move by his party than a genuine apology. The leader of the main opposition party, Park Gun Heh is the daughter of former president Park Jung Hee, a well-known collaborator with the Japanese during the occupation era and a brutal dictator after independence. During the occupation, Park senior served as an officer in the Japanese imperial army and participated in atrocities against both his own people as well as the Chinese. To a sane foreign observer, it may seem incredible that the daughter of such a traitor could rise to become the head of a major politcal party, but that is the political reality in South Korea. The current president is attempting to bring about social reform, which is not a bad thing, and Shin's resignation may be an attempt to whittle away at Park Gun Heh's credibility.
Thus, it seems to me that while Shin's resignation could be the beginning of a genuine (and much overdue) movement to bring more accountability to the Korean families that collaborated with Japanese imperialism, it seems that it was nevertheless done for cynical political motives. And of course, the victims of the collaborators are still uncompensated. Quite the opposite, in fact, in the North.
Apologizing for the past means taking responsibility for the present, after all.
Mr. Shin's resignation is, of course, more a political move by his party than a genuine apology. The leader of the main opposition party, Park Gun Heh is the daughter of former president Park Jung Hee, a well-known collaborator with the Japanese during the occupation era and a brutal dictator after independence. During the occupation, Park senior served as an officer in the Japanese imperial army and participated in atrocities against both his own people as well as the Chinese. To a sane foreign observer, it may seem incredible that the daughter of such a traitor could rise to become the head of a major politcal party, but that is the political reality in South Korea. The current president is attempting to bring about social reform, which is not a bad thing, and Shin's resignation may be an attempt to whittle away at Park Gun Heh's credibility.
Thus, it seems to me that while Shin's resignation could be the beginning of a genuine (and much overdue) movement to bring more accountability to the Korean families that collaborated with Japanese imperialism, it seems that it was nevertheless done for cynical political motives. And of course, the victims of the collaborators are still uncompensated. Quite the opposite, in fact, in the North.
Monday, August 16, 2004
This summer I've been lifting and running like mad, mostly because I have the time to spare. Tonight, I'm exhausted after going to the gym for an hour and taking a 45 min run afterwards. The first 10 minutes of a run is always the most painful: my lungs hurt like hell, and my lower legs scream in protest. But I guess that's just an initial burn in period, because after those 10 minutes, I feel nothing but the cool evening air, and I feel as if I could run forever. To watch my feet chew up the miles... it's a great feeling.
And of course the lavish facilities at Dillon Gym offer treadmills to run on, but I prefer running around outside. Treadmills are nice in that the machine keeps the pace for you, the machine pushes you, and although you look something like a hamster in a wheel, it's good for your body. There are lots of thin girls working to maintain their figures on the treadmills at Dillon. But while the treadmill is an exercise for the body, I feel running is fundamentally an exercise for the mind. Running outside, you are the one that's pushing yourself farther and faster, and you are the one that can also take it easy and walk.
So, although I have no idea why I keep going back to the weightroom, I am quite sure that I run for my mental health. If I stopped running, I don't think I could keep it together for very long. Running is what makes it possible for me to keep my sanity in this lonely foreign country.
And I guess this is fortunate for my physical health, but the past few days I've been motivated to run faster and harder than ever before. More on that below.
And of course the lavish facilities at Dillon Gym offer treadmills to run on, but I prefer running around outside. Treadmills are nice in that the machine keeps the pace for you, the machine pushes you, and although you look something like a hamster in a wheel, it's good for your body. There are lots of thin girls working to maintain their figures on the treadmills at Dillon. But while the treadmill is an exercise for the body, I feel running is fundamentally an exercise for the mind. Running outside, you are the one that's pushing yourself farther and faster, and you are the one that can also take it easy and walk.
So, although I have no idea why I keep going back to the weightroom, I am quite sure that I run for my mental health. If I stopped running, I don't think I could keep it together for very long. Running is what makes it possible for me to keep my sanity in this lonely foreign country.
And I guess this is fortunate for my physical health, but the past few days I've been motivated to run faster and harder than ever before. More on that below.
This weekend turned out to be rather rough. On Saturday night, I got a call from Panna, who needed someone to talk to after breaking up with David. I listened to her ramble about various aspects of their relationship in her characteristically ADD sort of way, and after an hour or so of release, she cheerfully thanked me for listening and hung up.
Immediately afterwards I got a call from Emily, for the first time in months, who had (ironically enough) just broken up with her boyfriend. Two in one night... I must be turning into a real sponge. Emily began by declaring her hatred for all the male race, and told me she needed somebody to talk to. I quietly pointed out that I too, am male, and asked her why she wanted to talk to me. There was an embarrassed silence from Emily. Apparently she had forgotten that I am male. I quickly changed the subject to Nick, and rest of the conversation flowed smoothly.
Of course I don't mind lending a listening ear to those that would like it. I have an instinctive desire to take care of those who are hurting, and that is why I trained to be an EMT, trained to be a peer-counselor, and taught at math camp those two summers. But it would be nice if these friends that I talk to showed a little more respect, or consideration, for me. It doesn't quite seem right that the story of Panna and Emily sums up in a concise way the entirety of my relationship with white women.
So much for Saturday night. I spent the rest of the weekend working on my powerpoint presentation, and trying to get some reading done while sitting around the dorm. Since it is the last weekend of our summer program, it seemed that many of my housemates were being visited by their girlfriends. Of course, my summer program is full of a bunch of white male physics majors. You know that ugly, geeky, mildly annoying white physics major with bad skin and worse social skills? The one that you feel sorry for, because you wonder who could ever love him. I assume that every college classroom has one or two of those asking smartass questions to the professor. Yeah. By his junior year, he's dating an Asian American girl. It's actually sort of annoying how consistent this is true: he's too unattractive to get the thin blonde, so he settles for the easy ones, the one that's desperate for his skin color. And it's more annoying when several of these types spend their weekend parading their AA girls around the dorm, lewdly touching her in public, and I don't mean holding her hand. It's annoying when they come into my room, while I'm lying in bed reading a book about American Imperialism, and they put on the same display in my room.
For the past 9 weeks at Princeton, I've kept a running count of the Asian woman-Asian man couples I've seen in public. I've only managed to keep an accurate count, because such sightings have been sufficiently rare. I've counted 5 this summer. On the other hand, every time I take a walk down Nassau Street, I notice around half a dozen Asian women clinging onto a white American man while they leisurely take an evening stroll. And since I walk down Nassau Street just about every day, I guess I have seen 9 x 7 x 6 = 378 of these couples.
The predictability is getting tiresome.
So I've spent the past few days fighting off what seems like a two-pronged assault on my sanity, from two distinct groups of women. Panna calls regularly, and I try and help her sort through her own tangled thoughts. After all, she didn't choose her ADD any more than David chose his alcoholism, though she sees the two as completely different. And I go running and avoid my housemates and their less than perfect mannerisms.
Immediately afterwards I got a call from Emily, for the first time in months, who had (ironically enough) just broken up with her boyfriend. Two in one night... I must be turning into a real sponge. Emily began by declaring her hatred for all the male race, and told me she needed somebody to talk to. I quietly pointed out that I too, am male, and asked her why she wanted to talk to me. There was an embarrassed silence from Emily. Apparently she had forgotten that I am male. I quickly changed the subject to Nick, and rest of the conversation flowed smoothly.
Of course I don't mind lending a listening ear to those that would like it. I have an instinctive desire to take care of those who are hurting, and that is why I trained to be an EMT, trained to be a peer-counselor, and taught at math camp those two summers. But it would be nice if these friends that I talk to showed a little more respect, or consideration, for me. It doesn't quite seem right that the story of Panna and Emily sums up in a concise way the entirety of my relationship with white women.
So much for Saturday night. I spent the rest of the weekend working on my powerpoint presentation, and trying to get some reading done while sitting around the dorm. Since it is the last weekend of our summer program, it seemed that many of my housemates were being visited by their girlfriends. Of course, my summer program is full of a bunch of white male physics majors. You know that ugly, geeky, mildly annoying white physics major with bad skin and worse social skills? The one that you feel sorry for, because you wonder who could ever love him. I assume that every college classroom has one or two of those asking smartass questions to the professor. Yeah. By his junior year, he's dating an Asian American girl. It's actually sort of annoying how consistent this is true: he's too unattractive to get the thin blonde, so he settles for the easy ones, the one that's desperate for his skin color. And it's more annoying when several of these types spend their weekend parading their AA girls around the dorm, lewdly touching her in public, and I don't mean holding her hand. It's annoying when they come into my room, while I'm lying in bed reading a book about American Imperialism, and they put on the same display in my room.
For the past 9 weeks at Princeton, I've kept a running count of the Asian woman-Asian man couples I've seen in public. I've only managed to keep an accurate count, because such sightings have been sufficiently rare. I've counted 5 this summer. On the other hand, every time I take a walk down Nassau Street, I notice around half a dozen Asian women clinging onto a white American man while they leisurely take an evening stroll. And since I walk down Nassau Street just about every day, I guess I have seen 9 x 7 x 6 = 378 of these couples.
The predictability is getting tiresome.
So I've spent the past few days fighting off what seems like a two-pronged assault on my sanity, from two distinct groups of women. Panna calls regularly, and I try and help her sort through her own tangled thoughts. After all, she didn't choose her ADD any more than David chose his alcoholism, though she sees the two as completely different. And I go running and avoid my housemates and their less than perfect mannerisms.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
Controlled nuclear fusion is said to be one of the most difficult scientific and engineering feats ever attempted. Despite the promises of a clean and unlimited energy supply, researchers still do not have a design for a commercially viable fusion reactor, after half a century of hard work .
And I think I understand why; there is no hard work being done.
At the lab, I see that many of the workers come in rather late in the morning, check their email, and treat themselves to a leisurely lunch. After lunch, there is usually some form of intramural sports game to go to: soccer on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and volleyball on the more temperate days. As for me, I am working less than half of the time I spend at PPPL. Though I work energetically when my advisor actually shows up to the lab and gives me some direction to my research, he has been out of town for almost exactly half of the summer, and in particular has been a rare sight at the lab for the past two weeks.
It's a good thing that other countries are much more committed to fusion energy, though I suppose I'm only giving other labs around the world the benefit of the doubt, since I haven't interned there yet.
So, I've been rather bored lately, with nothing much better to do than get caught up on reading Znet and writing letters. And I'm starting to get an uneasy feeling in my stomach, as another semester of college rapidly approaches.
And I think I understand why; there is no hard work being done.
At the lab, I see that many of the workers come in rather late in the morning, check their email, and treat themselves to a leisurely lunch. After lunch, there is usually some form of intramural sports game to go to: soccer on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and volleyball on the more temperate days. As for me, I am working less than half of the time I spend at PPPL. Though I work energetically when my advisor actually shows up to the lab and gives me some direction to my research, he has been out of town for almost exactly half of the summer, and in particular has been a rare sight at the lab for the past two weeks.
It's a good thing that other countries are much more committed to fusion energy, though I suppose I'm only giving other labs around the world the benefit of the doubt, since I haven't interned there yet.
So, I've been rather bored lately, with nothing much better to do than get caught up on reading Znet and writing letters. And I'm starting to get an uneasy feeling in my stomach, as another semester of college rapidly approaches.
Sunday, August 01, 2004
So this hints at why I find the blog at yellowcurious about "sex and the Asian-American guy" so ridiculous:
lostinme: So do you have anybody in mind at college?
AAguy: ;_;
lostinme: That you want as "model"
AAguy: oh sure
AAguy: there are several people that owe me favors
lostinme: "favors"?
AAguy: favors
AAguy: not "favors"
AAguy: and i guess i meant model not "model"
NB: Everybody mentioned on this blog have had their names changed to protect their idenity.
lostinme: So do you have anybody in mind at college?
AAguy: ;_;
lostinme: That you want as "model"
AAguy: oh sure
AAguy: there are several people that owe me favors
lostinme: "favors"?
AAguy: favors
AAguy: not "favors"
AAguy: and i guess i meant model not "model"
NB: Everybody mentioned on this blog have had their names changed to protect their idenity.
