i thought these questions were fun - perhaps a good way to screen potential dates? =)

http://edition.cnn.com/2008/LIVING/12/08/odd.oxford.questions/index.html#cnnSTCOther1

Make a Mess, Discover Your Life

A much-needed kick in the butt!

By Anne Lamott

Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.

Besides, perfectionism will block inventiveness and playfulness and life force (these are words we are allowed to use in California). Perfectionism means that you try desperately not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived. Clutter is wonderfully fertile ground—you can still discover new treasures under all those piles, clean things up, fix things, get a grip. Tidiness suggests that something is as good as it’s going to get. Tidiness makes me think of held breath, of suspended animation.

When I was 21, I had my tonsils removed. I was one of those people who got strep throat every few minutes, and my doctor finally decided that I needed to have my tonsils taken out. For the entire week afterward, swallowing hurt so much that I could barely open my mouth for a straw. I had a prescription for painkillers, though, and when they ran out but the pain hadn’t, I called the nurse and said she would need to send another prescription over, and maybe a little mixed grill of drugs because I was also feeling somewhat anxious. But she wouldn’t.

I asked to speak to her supervisor. She told me her supervisor was at lunch and that I needed to buy some gum, of all things, and to chew it vigorously—the thought of which made me clutch at my throat. She explained that when we have a wound in our body, the nearby muscles cramp around it to protect it from any more violation and from infection, and that I would need to use these muscles if I wanted them to relax again. So finally my best friend Pammy went out and bought me some gum, and I began to chew it, with great hostility and skepticism. The first bites caused a ripping sensation in the back of my throat, but within minutes all the pain was gone, permanently.

I think that something similar happens with our psychic muscles. They cramp around our wounds—the pain from our childhood, the losses and disappointments of adulthood, the humiliations suffered in both—to keep us from getting hurt in the same place again, to keep foreign substances out. So those wounds never have a chance to heal. Perfectionism is one way our muscles cramp. In some cases we don’t even know that the wounds and the cramping are there, but both limit us. They keep us moving in tight, worried ways. They keep us standing back or backing away from life, keep us from experiencing life in a naked and immediate way.

So go ahead and make big scrawls and mistakes. Perfectionism is a mean, frozen form of idealism, while messes are the artist’s true friend. What people somehow (inadvertently, I’m sure) forgot to mention when we were children was that we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here.

Anne Lamott is a writer of books and essays. This piece is an excerpt from her book, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.

Interesting!

I filled out a job application and here is the assessment it gave me:

CareerView Summary:

Your Career Beliefs
(When you believe you should be doing)

Your Career Motivations
(Patterns that would best fit your motivations)

Primary Theme:
Expert

long term specialization in a particular type of work, with emphasis on expertise, and stability Learning

periodic movement into new types of work, with emphasis on broadening of skills and knowledge, and creativity

Secondary
Theme Competitive

rapid upward advancement, with emphasis on achievement and gaining influence Entrepreneurial

many different kinds of work, with emphasis on variety and independence

Analysis:
The key themes in your Career Beliefs profile are very different from the key themes in your Career Motivations profile.
We place much more importance on Career Motivations than on Career Beliefs in career decision-making. Career Beliefs are too easily influenced by other people in our lives. A person's Career Motivations are more likely to reflect that person's own true preferences. Consequently, in your case, we recommend that you take care to place most importance on Learning themes and Entrepreneurial themes when searching for and evaluating career opportunities. Be sure not to give too much weight to Expert and Competitive themes. They could lead you in the wrong direction in your career.

-------------

StyleView
The StyleView Assessment provides a profile of the image you want to project versus your natural operating style - and examines how people's first and second impressions of you may differ.

StyleView Summary
Comparing your leadership style profile and your thinking style profile

Your leadership and thinking styles influence how people see you when they first meet you, or when they only see you in relatively formal circumstances, (leadership style) vs. how people see you when they get to know you well (thinking style).

As you know, first impressions may not be accurate impressions. That is, people often seem quite different after you get to know them from how you viewed them when you first met them.

Based on our analysis of your profile, we expect that other people's first impression of you will be somewhat different from their impression of you after they come to know you well.

Our reasoning is as follows:

Your Primary Leadership Style is
Task Focused

Your Primary Thinking Style is
Complex

First Impression of You When people first meet you they likely see you as action-oriented, firm and practical - steady, reliable and committed to getting things done efficiently.

After People Get to Know You People who really get to know you well will come to see that actually you are very analytic, thorough, and logical in your thinking, and as quite inclined to stick with a particular course of action once you make up your mind.

Main Difference The main difference that people likely notice as they become increasingly familiar with you is that you are more analytic and inclined to think things through thoroughly before deciding than you first appeared.

Desire to be Embraced

it's a crisp day outside, a kind of a day which beckons you to take a walk or do something meaningful for another. here i am at the library for the umpteenth (sp?) time and wish that i were back in Alexandria (my humble abode) visiting shops or on the road to somewhere.

sometimes, i think we make decisions on the spur of the moment or based on such a trivial factor only to realize later the full implications of what we have done. in retrospect, i very much regret having come to DC. i wish i was enveloped by words and people who beckon and hold me with their warmth and comfort. i wish i were in a place where i could identify with the language spoken there - language of inclusion, openness and truth. i wish i were in a grad program which inspires me on a daily basis to be a better person and to love and to serve another - a place where i can be free to be myself. i wish i were in a place that loves back and pours blessings in gentle waves and rhythms unbeknownst to the recipient.

Morality and the Economic Crisis

i had the chance to visit the church where pastor Gordon Cosby presides here in D.C. i thought this was an interesting post...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have a friend who is an attorney with a deep knowledge of the national economic crisis. He made two interesting comments:

He first said that "liquidity" is not the real problem in the market right now---it is that no one knows what anything is worth. So much stuff of questionable value is hidden on balance sheets that buyers no longer know if something is worth what it is trading for, less, or more. So no one really knows how bad things are and cannot put an efficient, valid price on things. In other words, blindness about value. That destroys the logic of the "free market" because efficiency is based on "transparency" of value.

Second, he said that as a result of the first problem of blindness about value, it is difficult to know if persons you are selling to can meet their commitments to you. In other words---blindness about the solvency of parties in the market. That also kills an "efficient" market because it destroys the needed trust that makes the market work.

In spiritual traditions of all kinds, blindness is an old theme----people who corruptly set out to blind others end up blind themselves. We ignore that wisdom at our peril. Morality, once again, is proven to be fundamental to an efficient marketplace.

Source: Conversation with a friend, September 28, 2008

The Ambition of the Short Story

By STEVEN MILLHAUSER
Published: October 3, 2008

The short story — how modest in bearing! How unassuming in manner! It sits there quietly, eyes lowered, almost as if trying not to be noticed. And if it should somehow attract your attention, it says quickly, in a brave little self-deprecating voice alive to all the possibilities of disappointment: “I’m not a novel, you know. Not even a short one. If that’s what you’re looking for, you don’t want me.” Rarely has one form so dominated another. And we understand, we nod our heads knowingly: here in America, size is power. The novel is the Wal-Mart, the Incredible Hulk, the jumbo jet of literature. The novel is insatiable — it wants to devour the world. What’s left for the poor short story to do? It can cultivate its garden, practice meditation, water the geraniums in the window box. It can take a course in creative nonfiction. It can do whatever it likes, so long as it doesn’t forget its place — so long as it keeps quiet and stays out of the way. “Hoo ha!” cries the novel. “Here ah come!” The short story is always ducking for cover. The novel buys up the land, cuts down the trees, puts up the condos. The short story scampers across a lawn, squeezes under a fence.

Of course there are virtues associated with smallness. Even the novel will grant as much. Large things tend to be unwieldy, clumsy, crude; smallness is the realm of elegance and grace. It’s also the realm of perfection. The novel is exhaustive by nature; but the world is inexhaustible; therefore the novel, that Faustian striver, can never attain its desire. The short story by contrast is inherently selective. By excluding almost everything, it can give perfect shape to what remains. And the short story can even lay claim to a kind of completeness that eludes the novel — after the initial act of radical exclusion, it can include all of the little that’s left. The novel, when it remembers the short story at all, is pleased to be generous. “I admire you,” it says, placing its big rough hand over its heart. “No kidding. You’re so — you’re so —” So pretty! So svelte! So high class! And smart, too. The novel can hardly contain itself. After all, what difference does it make? It’s nothing but talk. What the novel cares about is vastness, is power. Deep in its heart, it disdains the short story, which makes do with so little. It has no use for the short story’s austerity, its suppression of appetite, its refusals and renunciations. The novel wants things. It wants territory. It wants the whole world. Perfection is the consolation of those who have nothing else.

So much for the short story. Modest in its pretensions, shyly proud of its petite virtues, a trifle anxious in relation to its brash rival, it contents itself with sitting back and letting the novel take on the big world. And yet, and yet. That modest pose — am I mistaken, or is it a little overdone? Those glancing-away looks — do they contain a touch of slyness? Can it be that the little short story dares to have ambitions of its own? If so, it will never admit them openly, because of a sharp instinct for self-protection, a long habit of secrecy bred by oppression. In a world ruled by swaggering novels, smallness has learned to make its way cautiously. We will have to intuit its secret. I imagine the short story harboring a wish. I imagine the short story saying to the novel: You can have everything — everything — all I ask is a single grain of sand. The novel, with a careless shrug, a shrug both cheerful and contemptuous, grants the wish.

But that grain of sand is the story’s way out. That grain of sand is the story’s salvation. I take my cue from William Blake: “All the world in a grain of sand.” Think of it: the world in a grain of sand; which is to say, every part of the world, however small, contains the world entirely. Or to put it another way: if you concentrate your attention on some apparently insignificant portion of the world, you will find, deep within it, nothing less than the world itself. In that single grain of sand lies the beach that contains the grain of sand. In that single grain of sand lies the ocean that dashes against the beach, the ship that sails the ocean, the sun that shines down on the ship, the interstellar winds, a teaspoon in Kansas, the structure of the universe. And there you have the ambition of the short story, the terrible ambition that lies behind its fraudulent modesty: to body forth the whole world. The short story believes in transformation. It believes in hidden powers. The novel prefers things in plain view. It has no patience with individual grains of sand, which glitter but are difficult to see. The novel wants to sweep everything into its mighty embrace — shores, mountains, continents. But it can never succeed, because the world is vaster than a novel, the world rushes away at every point. The novel leaps restlessly from place to place, always hungry, always dissatisfied, always fearful of coming to an end — because when it stops, exhausted but never at peace, the world will have escaped it. The short story concentrates on its grain of sand, in the fierce belief that there — right there, in the palm of its hand — lies the universe. It seeks to know that grain of sand the way a lover seeks to know the face of the beloved. It looks for the moment when the grain of sand reveals its true nature. In that moment of mystic expansion, when the macrocosmic flower bursts from the microcosmic seed, the short story feels its power. It becomes bigger than itself. It becomes bigger than the novel. It becomes as big as the universe. Therein lies the immodesty of the short story, its secret aggression. Its method is revelation. Its littleness is the agency of its power. The ponderous mass of the novel strikes it as the laughable image of weakness. The short story apologizes for nothing. It exults in its shortness. It wants to be shorter still. It wants to be a single word. If it could find that word, if it could utter that syllable, the entire universe would blaze up out of it with a roar. That is the outrageous ambition of the short story, that is its deepest faith, that is the greatness of its smallness.

Steven Millhauser’s most recent book is “Dangerous Laughter: Thirteen Stories.”

Old Town, Alexandria

I just moved to a new place in Alexandria, Virginia -- one of my many 'homes' since college. Besides the number of shops on 'King Street,' the main street replete with a wide range of restaurants and ice cream and coffee shops, I'm very excited about the Gap Outlet store nearby!

I stayed in tonight thinking I would do a lot of work, but to no avail. Probably should hit up a coffee shop or just enjoy Friday night next time :) On a related note, I hope that I can find a good bible study/community group in the area soon!

Aigoo...

In The Washington Post today...

Joe Eszterhas

"My Base Instincts and God's Love"

Seven years ago, I sat down on a curb near my home, sobbing, and asked God to help me.

I had just had surgery for throat cancer. I still had a trache in my throat. I had been told that if I didn't stop smoking and drinking immediately, I'd die. I desperately didn't want to die. I adored my wife and children.

But I knew I couldn't stop. I'd started smoking when I was twelve and drinking when I was 14. I was now 57 years old.

I cried and begged God to help me . . . and He did. I hadn't prayed since I was a boy. I had made fun of God and those who loved God in my writings. And now, through my sobs, I heard myself asking God to help me . . . and from the moment I asked, He did.

I didn't at first understand why He did. I didn't deserve His help, I thought. I was unworthy. I ignore Him for forty years and then suddenly I ask Him to help me and He does? It took me some time to understand that God helped me because He loves me. Because even though we don't deserve God's love, God loves us - all of us.

Not only did He give me the strength to be able to defeat my addictions, He saved my life. My throat surgeon, Dr. Marshall Strome, told me seven years after the surgery that I am "cured." Not that I am in remission, but that I am cured. That my throat tissue has regenerated so remarkably that even a doctor examining my throat wouldn't be able to tell that there was ever cancer there. Dr. Strome, who had removed about eighty percent of my larynx, called this "a miracle."

I call it that, too. Why did God save the life of a man who had trashed, lampooned, and marginalized Him most of his life? Why did He take the time and the trouble to save me? It certainly wasn't because I had written Basic Instinct and Showgirls, right? Was it because my wife and I had four little boys we were trying to raise? Possibly.

Or was it God's divinely impish sense of humor? "Who, you? You're praying? After
everything you've done to break my commandments and after every nasty, unfunny thing you've written about Me and those who follow Me - now you're sobbing? Praying? Asking Me to help you? Hah! Okay, fine, I'll help you. But if I do, know this: My help will obliterate the old, infamous you. You'll wind up turning your life inside-out. You'll wind up stopping all of your excesses. You know what will happen to you? You'll wind up telling the world what I did for you. You'll wind up carrying my cross in church. Yes, I make all things new - and you will be new, too."

Well, I thought I heard God saying all those things to me . . . and then all of the things God said would happen . . . did. My life has turned inside-out. I have stopped my excesses and replaced them with prayer and long walks. I am carrying the cross as often as they'll let me at Holy Angels Church in Bainbridge Township, Ohio. And I have written a book as a thank-you to God. Not just for saving my life, but for saving me.

I am witness to and the beneficiary of God's love for all of us. Am I am witness, too, to the fact that His love is so strong that it was even able to open my rusty old closed heart.

I will thank Him forever because He gave me new life and a heart which is truly able to love for the first time in my life. His love is mine.

Joe Eszterhas is the author of a new memoir called "Crossbearer." He has written the screenplays for sixteen films, totaling over $1 billion in box office revenue. His blockbusters include Basic Instinct, Jagged Edge, Flashdance and Showgirls. A former senior editor at Rolling Stone, he is the author of five previous books - the second, "Charlie Simpson's Apocalypse," was nominated for the National Book Award.

Poems

Ask Me

by William Stafford

Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.

I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.

Source: The Way It Is, New & Selected Poems

~~~~~~~~~

Thirst

Mary Oliver

Another morning and I wake with thirst for the goodness I do not have. I walk out to the pond and all the way God has given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord, I was never a quick scholar but sulked and hunched over my books past the hour and the bell; grant me, in your mercy, a little more time. Love for the earth and love for you are having such a long conversation in my heart. Who knows what will finally happen or where I will be sent, yet already I have given a great many things away, expecting to be told to pack nothing, except the prayers which, with this thirst, I am slowly learning.

Source: Thirst

Lecture by an old professor

Today, I had a chance to hear one of my former professors speak on the current state of Korean affairs. In many ways, hearing him speak brought many issues concerning Korea and international relations to a full circle...

Welcome to my revamped blog! I was getting a bit tired of the woe-is-me entries, so here is the new and improved version..hopefully with lots of pictures, images, and thoughts. I hope you visit often! :)