In-Law Syndrome: Its Etiology and Cure

The moment they hear their son or daughter say the wedding vows of total commitment and exclusive love to their bride or groom the parents’ hearts sink and ache. The child they have raised is no longer theirs alone to have but must be shared, if allowed, with the usurper in-law. Resentment, if not outright hostility, is the reaction, which in turn sets off a counter-reaction in the newcomer whose disappointment in finding something less than total acceptance turns into bitterness and anger at the parents-in-law, which, perceived as disrespect, intensifies the latter’s ill disposition toward the daughter- or son-in-law. In no time the self-feeding vicious circle spins out of control and wreaks havoc, the prevention of which is of paramount importance.

(1) Long Maturation

The basic cause of it all is that humans take an awful long time to mature, 3 decades, give or take, if you add graduate schooling and professional training. So far no 3D printer has been invented that stamps out on demand a fully functional adult human.

Sexual intercourse still remains the primary method of fertilization, that is, combination of male and female gametes into the zygote with 23 paired chromosomes which must gestate 40 weeks in the mother’s womb for live birth. Artificial insemination may replace sexual intercourse and in vitro gestation the womb, which however takes just as long.

But birth is only the beginning. The helpless infant must be brought up through childhood, adolescence, and puberty to become physically mature, which, however, is a far cry from social maturity to function as an independent productive member of society. Who carries them during these years of dependency? The parents, who devote all their energy and resources to their upbringing, deservingly earning their gratitude and affection, as well as social recognition of parental authority, absolute and exclusive. But at one stroke the wedding vows obliterate this relationship, the wedding couple now seemingly dedicating their love entirely to each other with nothing to spare for anybody else.

No owner gives up his right to his property without a fight. Hence Archie Bunker’s perpetual meanness to his “dumb Pollack” son-in-law in the 1970’s sitcom and the brutality of Korean mothers-in-law to their daughters-in-law in 90% of current Korean drama, all striking a sympathetic cord.

(2) The Cure

But sympathy should not translate to acquiescence which is the recipe for disaster. We must stop it at the source, the parents who refuse to let go their obsessive love for their child. As a parent who has had three children married, I have this to say to them.

First, understand that it is nothing but sheer ignorance that perceives as your loss when your child pledges all his or her love to their spouse, the inability to distinguish the different shades of meaning in the English word “love.” The Greeks weren’t so dumb and any half-baked seminarian will tell you that “love” could mean, among others, eros sexual (romantic) love, ludus playful love, philia deep friendship, or agape cosmic compassion, as embodied in Jesus. What the bride and groom are promising each other is obviously eros with a touch of ludus and even philia, because eros in the long run matures into that. The relationship between parent and child is definitely philia, perhaps with a touch of ludus. Granted there are some overlaps on the fringe but the essential parent-child relationship cannot possibly be threatened by the child’s romantic relationship.

But if this intellectual leap is too difficult, let’s play a game: put yourself in your child’s place and your parents, whether living or dead, in yours. You must have done to your parents exactly what your child is doing to you by marrying your spouse. You broke their hearts then and it’s only fair that this time around it’s your turn to get yours broken.

Moreover, way back when you married, you didn’t even suspect that you were hurting your parents’ feelings the way you are hurting now. If you had been told that, you would have laughed it off as the most ridiculous thing. All you wanted and expected was your parents’ unreserved acceptance of your bride or groom.

The romantic love you promise your bride or groom is categorically different from the deep affection (philia) you feel for your parents and does not in any way compromise or diminish it. Besides they should know that what you’ve got with them can never end the way marriage can by divorce.

Returning to the present – bear in mind that your daughter- or son-in-law is some other parents’ dear child, just as valuable as your own is to you. Don’t ever think your child deserves a better mate. We are truly all equal, regardless of position, power, money (see The Lottery: The Equalizer, 11-3-2018, typakmusings.com). Be content that you have done your best to bring up your child so as to be acceptable as a mate to someone else’s.

Because it is philia you have with your child, it doesn’t matter whether he or she and their spouse live under the same roof with you. Sex being its primary element, eros can be best enjoyed in private space, as you know. So if they want to set up house by themselves miles away, don’t take it as your rejection. Bless them, though you’ll miss seeing them around, and help them with the furnishing. Be gracious and generous with your gifts and loans, because you have more resources now, though the young ones will hopefully soon catch up and surpass you.

On this score remember you are getting on in years and won’t be able to go on carrying your child as a dependent the way you used to. You are lucky that your child, married, has a spouse to support and depend on.

Turning now to the children, the other branch in the in-law dichotomy, I have no special advice for you. If the water is clean upstream, so is it downstream, the Korean saying goes (웃물이 맑으면 아랫물도 맑다). I have straightened your parents out, so you won’t have any more grief from them. Just carry on, make love, and support and defend each other in all things. Your marital harmony and peace means everything to your enlightened parents. Please do not fight, because that hurts them worse than dagger thrusts. Once in a while call your parents and tell them you love them, sending cards on their birthdays. That will put them on cloud nine every time.

Wives’ Revenge: Switching of Exteriority

It’s a pleasure to see Kenneth, a fellow countryman and Onc (see Immortality Club, 8-2-2018, typakmusings.com), always upbeat with a wry sense of fatalism, an epitome of the Korean adage, “Bounce back up the 8th time, though knocked over 7 times (7전 8기).”

“So how is your life as a homebody?” I ask, referring to the reversal of roles or polarity between himself, the “outward or exterior lord” (바깥 양반), another word for husband in Korean, describing how he goes out into the world to bring home the bacon, and his wife, “home person” (집 사람) or “interior person” (안 사람), left behind to take care of the house. Notice the honorific “lord” for the former, contrasting with the plebeian status of the latter.

Biology brings about the switch of polarity, not legislation nor cultural, social pressure. Men, too feeble to go out, get to stay home, but their mates, on average 5 years younger due to hypergamy on top of their longer lifespan by 7 years in the States, go shopping, stop at the bank, post office, gas station, and perform other necessary “exterior” activities, which may even include bringing home a paycheck, as in Kenneth’s case: Alice is a church musician.

But, as is often the case with the nouveau riche, the female “lords” can be pretty bossy toward their homebodies, putting them under strict orders to wash dishes, put out the garbage and recyclables, clean the whole house spic and span, inside and out, water the plants, and do repairs on the furniture and the house. Mercifully, he doesn’t have to cook. Nor does she do much of it anyway, ready-made Korean and Western cuisine being available at supermarkets and specialty stores. Except she spends hours cooking for Emily, their 3-year-old granddaughter, she babysits and takes to preschool.

“Alice has finally stopped bitching about having to rewash the dishes, especially Emily’s,” Kenneth replies triumphantly. “This happened one day when she gave me a frying pan coated thick with lard after pan frying steak. I couldn’t rinse it under the faucet for fear of clogging up the drain. So I scraped the pan with scrap paper, then kept scraping with more and more wads of paper until no trace of grease remained and, in fact, no water washing was needed with or without soap. Then and there I decided to apply the same method to everything else, dishes, pots and pans, utensils. Alice hasn’t figured out yet why it’s been months since she bought the last bottle of dish detergent.”

“But doesn’t it take long?”

“A couple of hours along with my eating but it’s healthy. No more acid reflux.”

Grandparent Spoiling

How do grandparents get hooked on their grandchildren and spoil them? How bad is it or is it?

In her New Year letter Margaret, my wife Young’s long-time friend, explains why she had to leave New Jersey where she had lived all her life, raising her three children, and head west: to follow her youngest daughter, her husband, and their one-year-old son Jack, who has “stolen my heart.”

It certainly rings a bell, because that’s more or less what we have done, moving east from Hawaii to be near Naomie, our then 6th and youngest new-born granddaughter. Both her parents working full time in Manhattan it made sense to terminate our second Hawaiian residence of a dozen years and come over to help with her rearing. Besides we were getting on in years, even my wife, 20 years my junior, and this might be the last opportunity to practice grandparenting, of which we had a taste with Jamie, our first granddaughter, nostalgia for which had crescendoed to an unbearable degree at times – her stayovers with us, the special room we had painstakingly furnished for her, her merry laughter, the restaurants we enjoyed, everybody gathering around her, the cutest thing in the world, our day-long trips to the amusement parks, museums, beaches, lakes. Then, in her kindergarten year, we had to pack up and move to Hawaii, too far away to do anything with her or with her younger twin sisters and two cousins.

Enlisted in our cause is Young’s mother, a 40-year-resident of Hawaii: my wife has a medical condition that limits her full-time employment and disqualifies her in one vital respect, living at her son’s house to tend to the infant waking up in the middle of the night interrupting the distance-commuters’ sleep. Not to mention our need for space, including a master bedroom suite of our own. Young’s mother, the epitome of health and energy at 88, didn’t mind, especially when promised the services of a full-time nanny and part timers for pre-midnight and weekend attendance. She goes to sleep early like 8 p.m. and is more or less awake in the small hours of the night.

In no time Naomie, half the time called Jamie by us, does to Young what Jack has done to Margaret: bewitchment.

“Oh, I miss her,” Young sighs as soon as she steps into our house, the painful separation routine still vivid in her mind when she drops Naomie off at her house 4.2 miles away from ours after picking her up at the preschool. Never directly, though, because they generally stop at a few stores, including the Palisades Park Plaza with the carousel and toy land. When they finally get to her house, she makes Young read books, a whole library of them, both English and Korean, work on puzzles, play the piano and sing with her. Gladys, the full timer, distracts her with the TV or the videos of herself Young has taken, so she can slip out but as often as not she gets caught by Naomie who runs out crying to the car.

Young tinkers a couple of hours in the kitchen preparing Naomie’s school lunch shaped into an elephant, dinosaur, horse, or something novel and imaginative, aided by Google graphics, to pass muster with Naomie who without fail demands to have her lunch box opened for inspection upon Young’s arrival at her house the next morning to take her to school.

At last, climbing into bed to sleep, Young sobs, “Oh, how I miss her!”

In the second week of February, 2019, Naomie comes over to stay with us for four nights, so her parents can take a skiing vacation by themselves in Colorado. Her 10-month old sister Naela is staying home with her great grandma, whose stay has now been automatically and indefinitely extended.

This isn’t the first time Naomie has stayed with us. Shortly after Naela’s birth the whole family had to come over for a few days while the attic was being remodeled for a live-in nanny. Absolutely to no purpose because the few they have tried out have all washed out. So this is the first time Naomie is with us by herself to be the focus of our undivided attention.

All three of us are on cloud nine. Whatever Naomie wants is hers. She pulls out all the toys from the parlor closet, brings out her table with the play dough from the study into the living room, visits the pink cloth castle with the spire in a corner of the dining room, noticing and approving the witch’s hat put on top by Young. We have fun all along. After the first dinner she even lets me brush her teeth, Young hanging over me to make sure I do a thorough job, reminding me that she was found to have three cavities on her last dental visit. I pull up her lip four times, upper and lower lip, left and right, to squeeze in the tooth brush and stroke down, first inside, then out, calculated to loosen any food particles caught between teeth, reminiscent of the precision work watch repairmen used to perform looking through a magnifying monocle over an eye. Are they tears in her eyes? Is she stoically enduring the indignity and discomfort, if not pain, of the whole operation? No, I have been extra careful not to pinch or poke. Still not sure of extricating all hiding food particles I propose to dental floss her, but Young forbids it, citing absence of the dentist’s instruction, though it seems a matter of common sense, flossing being far less traumatic than brushing. I am sure Naomie would see it my way, if explained, but who am I to argue with her majesty, my wife?

After a pleasant breakfast the next morning I smile and ask Naomie to come to the bathroom and sit on the stool to brush her teeth before she changes to school clothes.

“No!” the deafening scream is so sudden and violent it takes my breath away.

“Come and take over, honey,” I plead, vanquished, only to be struck by another thunderbolt.

“You should be able to take care of that small detail,” Young roars from the balcony. “I have to pack Naomie’s stuff and change her before getting myself ready to take her to school. I’ll be down in ten minutes with her clothes.”

“Okay, Sweetie,” I turn to Naomie and cajole her, “How about flossing?” I show her how it’s done.

“No!” She is adamant.

I almost think of forcing her, because this is an emergency. Three cavities! Then with a shock I recall a replica of the scene over four decades ago with my own children, her father included, who resist all reasonable attempts to make them do something necessary though I am in a hurry to drop them off at school and hurry to the university for my class. I was still teaching then. I would have definitely resorted to force. After a sharp slap or two I would have grabbed the chin, pulled open the mouth, shoved in the brush, and rubbed roughly, not so much to remove the food deposits as a routine. How destructive such violence would have been to their little ego, if not their teeth! I am smitten with regret and guilt. Thank God they have grown up normal, productive, creative individuals, with no grudges toward me that I can tell. Now with no class to teach or compulsion to earn money, I certainly won’t repeat such criminal behavior.

Young comes on the scene and immediately sizes up the situation. Instead of flying into a passion as I have feared, she bends down and tells her to let me brush her teeth, only to be met with another unequivocal “No!”

“We’ll take you home, then. Do you want that?”

Naomie is silent.

“All right, then,” Young says, getting ready to take her to the car.

“Yes,” Naomie says.

“Go home or brush teeth?”

“Go home.”

All hell has broken loose, the little one calling our bluff.

“Okay,” Young says. “But you are going straight to Moo-su-woon-day (Scary Place).”

It is the broom closet under the stairway to the attic, where Naomie’s mother banishes her for infractions like running around the house naked, refusing to wear her clothes after a bath, or taking forever to eat. Of course Young has never sent her there but invoked it now and then to frighten her into obedience.

“But Mommy is not home,” Naomie says confidently.

“Yeah but the Monster is there, Bad Monster, who will carry you in there,” Young growls and scowls, giving the best enactment of an enforcing monster, which impresses Naomie enough to scream, “No!”

“So not go home and brush teeth?”

Naomie nods in defeat but decides to make up for her submission. When the brushing is done and the clothes put on, she refuses to go down to the garage, and wants to keep watching the laptop at home. I have half a mind to pick her up, take her to the car, and plump her down in her seat.

“But there is a Happy Monster waiting outside to meet you, Naomie,” Young announces, looking out the window, too high for Naomie to look through. She wants to be picked up and shown, but Young suggests they go to the garage and meet him outside. Naomie follows and wants to see the Happy Monster before entering the car. Young takes her out and goes around the house to look, surprised to see him gone.

“I know,” Young explains. “He went to school first to wait for us. Let’s go and meet him there.”

Half doubtful, half credulous, Naomie enters the car and gets buckled in. At the school the first thing she asks is, “Where is the Happy Monster?” Young looks all over the parking lot and around the building to pronounce, “Oh, he must be in class with Teacher Jo Anne, waiting for you. Let’s go.” Naomie follows Young to the class to be met by a chorus of welcome, because she is popular with her peers and teachers. Young quietly leaves, unnoticed.

It’s Saturday, the day set aside for our visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. Wishing to leave the house by 9:30 so as not to miss the Lunar New Year parade and other events, we sit for breakfast at 8:30 and urge Naomie to eat the pieces of beef, not just noodles, in the bowl, along with boiled vegetables and milk.

“I want strawberry and banana smoothie,” Naomie declares.

“No, you have to drink the milk first,” Young counters but, fearing revolt, changes tack. “Okay, you can drink along with milk, one sip of smoothie, then one sip of milk, okay?”

Naomie remains noncommittal. When the 4-ounce bottle with the straw stuck in it is placed before her, she grabs, sucks, and doesn’t stop, until the whole bottle is drained. We let it go and plan on putting the cup of milk to her lips as often as she takes any mouthful of the solid food, except she is back to her usual trick of holding the food in her mouth like a bird’s crop. Eventually she swallows but at a glacial speed and Young is waiting with a spoonful ready to shove in her mouth at the first sign of deflation in the cheeks. It’s going to last the whole morning at this rate.

Young brings her laptop over and plays Naomie’s favorite tunes with the videos, Wheels on the Bus, Itsy Bitsy Spider, Old MacDonald, London Bridge Is Falling Down, and so on. Diverted, she starts swallowing faster. By 9:30 she finishes about half of the food laid out. The usual resistance happens about brushing her teeth but by telling her about the trip to the city she is made halfway cooperative. At 10 we are finally on our way and I am actually happy to be driving because of the special passenger, Naomie, all excitement, taking in the gliding scenery along the Parkway, despite my avowed animus against travel (see Myth of Travel, 11-10-2018, typakmusings.com).

If the start is late, the numerous errors we make on the road delay us even further. First, I think we are going to the Museum of Natural History despite Young’s mentioning the Metropolitan Museum. That’s why I’ve told Naomie that we’ll be seeing dinosaurs and mammoths. Remembering our visits there a few times with Jamie I confidently leave Hudson Parkway South at 96th and intend to turn right at either close to the park or the street before, but 96th is blocked and I have to turn left, then turn right onto 97th which only goes straight through the park.

“I have to turn right before the park but now I must cross it,” I moan.

“No, you are on the right track. Cross the park and turn right on Fifth right out of the park to the Metropolitan,” Young assures me. “Its parking garage is on Fifth at 80th.”

But even after this enlightenment I miss the museum parking entirely, not having noticed it on our previous visits by taxi or subway. I look only left, thinking that there could be no garage built on the park itself. Nor is there a garage on the east side of Fifth, either, lined with multimillion dollar residential condos. I turn left on 80th and find two garages, whose attendants of course don’t know where the museum parking per se is because people park at their garages and walk half a block to the museum. I return to the car parked at a hydrant with the hazard blinkers on to find Young on the phone talking to a human voice at the museum information. Hanging up she orders me to get back to Fifth and look right at 80th where we will see the garage.

After parking we get into the ground floor lobby, packed full with people in long lines to buy tickets. Hearing that we could go upstairs to the main lobby, Young decides to split up and, ordering me to stay in line, goes upstairs with Naomie, hoping to get the tickets quicker that way. After about 30 minutes my turn is coming up with only a couple of people ahead. I can’t buy the tickets in case Young has bought them already. In panic I call Young and the screen says, Emergency calls only. A few tries show the same results. Instead of stepping up to the counter, I leave and head for the stairs only to be told by the security to exit the building and enter by the main front entrance, unless I had tickets.

In the big lobby, milling with people, my heart sinks, the chance of running into Young and Naomie one in a thousand, maybe a million. I go to the information kiosk and ask if they can page them. They laugh and tell me to use my phone. I tell them that they should know better, calls other than emergency being blocked. Not comprehending, they tell me to try again. I dial and at least the emergency advisory does not display, though only Young’s recording comes on. After about the fifth try she answers. She is at the children’s crafts area downstairs, coloring, making paper shapes. She orders me to get the tickets and come look for them. There are dozens of machines where one gets tickets almost instantly. Why the long lines and the emergency blocking at the ground level, unbeknownst to the information one floor up? Anyway I buy one adult and one senior. Armed, I can now take indoor stairs or elevators freely and go look for my relatives.

When I find them, after going to all the wrong places, it’s 1 p.m., way past lunch time. Naomie is hungry. So we go to the cafeteria downstairs but the lines to pay for the items one places on the tray are miles long. The dining room is also full and people wait for tables to vacate. I am ready to give up, suggesting that we go out to eat and return, but Young has a better idea. We go in and find an empty table where Naomie and I wait, while Young goes back to get our lunch. Minutes pass but there is no sign of our provider. Naomie wants to go to the bathroom, which presents a real dilemma. To take our stroller, coats, bags would be giving up the hard-won table. On the other hand the stuff left behind may get stolen. Choosing the latter risk I navigate to the men’s outside the cafeteria only to stand in a line. When finally we get inside a vacated toilet, Naomie refuses to use it, saying she will wait until we get to our house. I end up taking her to the bathroom two more times and Young one time more during our lunch to the women’s thinking that may make a difference. No dice. The poor girl will hold. Such sensitivity!

After lunch we go to the Korean art room, Chinese gallery, Egyptian pavilion with the pond, etc. At the theater we line up to see a Chinese New Year lion dance. I choose to wait outside, unable to risk our stroller getting mixed up among the dozens parked, unattended. Besides I’ve seen the dance countless times. Naomie emerges well and tired, practically falling asleep. I offer to take her one more time to the bathroom but she refuses, betraying no sign of discomfort. What a feat of continence! Praying it does not damage her bladder, I eagerly second Young’s decision to head home, though we haven’t had our money’s worth. It’s 3:25 p.m. As soon as she gets into the car and buckled in, Naomie falls asleep.

As we return her to her parents, a few things cross my mind. It’s been exhausting 4 days of pure joy despite the bumps, and we already miss her. Why are we so willing to go through so much trouble for our grandchildren?

I believe our affection is an instinctual response to an aesthetic armor God puts on the young like protective coloring to disable or suspend the predatory ferocity in the adult, human or beast. Lions or wolves are known to fondle lambs or puppies. Most humans love babies, as we have confirmed time and again with Jamie and Naomie. Add to it the biological factor, our genetic torch bearers giving us biological immortality, be it only a quarter of their genetic makeup, and you have a megaton of affection.

At the same time this is extremely time sensitive. As I look at Jamie, our first granddaughter, whose name we still confuse with Naomie’s, whose earlier photos indistinguishable from the other one’s, I can’t believe she is now 21, a college sophomore, who gets A+ for a sociology paper coolly, microscopically dissecting us as the “first generation of immigrants struggling with their cultural shock in America.” I know for a fact that this brainy and stately young lady would be scandalized at the merest hint that I used to do to her what she just saw me do in passing to her much younger cousin Naomie: wipe her bottom after a toilet sitting.

Exhausted after having Naomie all to ourselves for four days we leave her at her home to wait for their parents, relieved. Upon return to our house, however, our eyes tear up at the empty bed recently vacated, leaving an imprint of her little body. We had better enjoy and spoil her as much as we can while we can, because it doesn’t last long. In fact, it ends rather quickly, when they turn kindergarten age, if not earlier, when it becomes clear to the little ones that it is their parents, no matter how uptight or strict, who have the last word on their shelter, clothing, food, what school they go to, what extracurricular lessons to take, what careers to pursue, etc. In these vital choices and commitments, whose importance begins to sink in and impress, they realize that grandparents with all their fondness, leniency, and indulgence are orbital, incidental and dispensable in a way the nuclear parents are not. Slowly they begin detaching, distancing themselves from us, the first step toward development, individuality, maturity, marriage, family, dynasty, as we walk off into the sunset, into oblivion. But that’s how it is, as it should be, no harm done, nothing to apologize for or bemoan.

Our only regret is that we will never be able to spoil those four grandchildren of ours, born between Jamie and Naomie, and Naela, Naomi’s younger sister, of whom Naomie is fiercely jealous. Whenever Young goes near her, Naomie comes around to play tackle, putting herself between them and pushing Young away. Hopefully, she will get over it in a year or two and become more tolerant of her sister, our last chance, unless their parents spring another surprise on us.

Revival of the Lunar New Year: Too Many Holidays?

Early this morning, Feb 5, 2019, I was startled by a New Year message for the Year of the Pig from a high school alum and from a Korean community leader of Metropolitan NY, both successful professionals, naturalized and resident in the States more than half a century. In the course of the day there followed altogether over a dozen, including one from a white American professor of mathematics, married to a Korean wife.

What a 180! Still ringing in my ears is the strident official motto, One New Year Only, calling for abolition of the old New Year, according to Korea’s modernization program, which decreed a wholesale repudiation of the backward hermit kingdom that had allowed its colonization by Japan in the first half of the 20th century. Naturally generations of Koreans grew up culturally conflicted with a deep inferiority complex that dogged them even when they emigrated to the US.

Until well into the new millennium many Koreans arriving in America hesitated to disclose their nationality, not minding identification with the Chinese or Japanese, already well established and in the main stream. Anxious to assimilate and Americanize they wouldn’t dream of resuscitating the Lunar New Year, discredited in their home country. Taking the math professor’s case, his Korean wife wouldn’t have demeaned her wonderful American husband with her own cultural baggage. Lo and behold, she has turned him into a militant practitioner. Assertive and demanding, she is anything but shy about who she is.

All thanks to Korea’s phenomenal economic growth. Were Korea still at the bottom of global GDP ranking, instead of near the top, Korean Americans would have been less than so enthusiastic to identify themselves as Korean. Again it is money that talks, makes all the difference. So Korean Americans have to thank their mother country for pulling itself up the ladder of success and restoring Korean Americans their national pride.

But how should we go about it? The reinstatement of the old Korean holiday creates a problem, too many holidays. Back in Korea, before my 1965 emigration to the States, I was amazed by the privileged foreigners, chiefly American military and diplomatic personnel, stationed in Korea, enjoying three kinds of holidays, UN, American (President, Memorial, Independence, Labor, and Veterans), and Korean. Were they in Korea for serious work or for a lark?

Now my countrymen in America seem headed in the same direction. Citing local ordinances for Hanukkah and other Jewish holidays, Tenafly in Bergen County, NJ, known for its high concentration of Koreans, has succeeded in getting Lunar New Year’s Day declared a holiday by its city council. Notice the change to “Lunar” from “Chinese,” as previously known, to emphasize its wider East Asian scope and thereby restore Korean identity. This has inspired other cities and boroughs in the county and elsewhere to emulate the example. Thank God they are not asking for inclusion of other holidays of theirs like March 1, the patriotic uprising in 1919 against Japanese occupation, and Aug 15, Liberation Day. Not so far anyway.

Hail to America, the Melting Pot!

“I totally disagree with your article about America being anything but a melting pot (see America, the Separator, Not a Melting Pot, for Naturalized Americans, 1-13-2019, typakmusings.com),” George, a Korean Onc, dares me openly during fellowship after church service (see Immortality Club, 8-2-2018, typakmusings.com). “We Koreans, for one, do not form ghettos or barrios.”

“But, George, you’ve relocated from Hawaii to Norwood, NJ, where the Koreans account for about 30% of the population,” intervenes Andrew, Lay Leader, generally conciliatory but firm upon sniffing a brawl ahead. “In fact, Park Place, the posh gated community you’ve bought into, has 12 Korean out of 19 residences and has just elected a Korean for President of the Home Owners Association.”

“I didn’t know that,” George digs in. “That Ashley my wife hired as realtor just because she was her high school alumna from Korea didn’t tell me, perhaps tipped off by Jane about my Koreanophobia.”

“Why do you hate your own kind so much?” asks Peter, the Cantor, amused.

“Because they take advantage of you, don’t know the meaning of give and take, one good turn deserving another,” George expounds. “For example, all this Ashley broad did after selling the house to us for a full 6% commission is buy a pot of palms. Promptly she and her husband take off on a two-week Caribbean cruise, which should have been ours, at the least. More properly she should have refunded us half of her commission.”

“How do you figure that?” asks Richard, a real estate attorney, retired.

“Because if we had hired a stranger, a regular American, White, Black, Latino, Chinese, anyone but Korean, we could have reduced the commission to 3%, as we did when we sold our Maplewood, NJ house in 2005 for our move to Hawaii.”

“Jane is happy and so are you with the house, a mansion, 3-car garage, 4-bedroom, 4-bath, 2-fireplace, marble and hardwood floors, 5,000 square feet, the price holding up in the down market,” points out Andrew who has been there bearing a house-warming gift from the church. “Ashley was a good choice as realtor. Maybe you should hire her back next time around when you buy or sell another house.”

“No,” George is emphatic. “I won’t let her come anywhere near. Who cares about such triviality as small talk in your own lingo, when you can save big bucks dealing with strangers at arm’s length? Thank God for America, the big melting pot chock full of strangers.”

Korean Pastor on His Deathbed Refusing A Chaplain

“How is your new chaplaincy going, Don?” Charles asks during fellowship after service, noticing him uncharacteristically glum. A charismatic preacher in his prime at a big church with over a thousand members and bishop of a big NJ diocese before his retirement and membership in the ONCS (see Immortality Club, 8-2-2018, typakmusings.com) he is usually the life of the party. Recently he has accepted chaplaincy on call at the Valley Hospital in Ridgewood just to do something.

“Lousy,” Don replies reluctantly. “I am trying to get over the shock I had this morning. The ER calls at about 5 a.m. to ask me over, stat, for a patient involved in a car accident on the point of death from multiple rib fractures and pulmonary edema. I run a few red lights, squeal through the gate, and park in my reserved stall in front of the ER, when Carol, the nurse who called me earlier, rings again to say that the patient refuses to have a chaplain. I tell her that I am right outside the door and will come in to comfort him and the family. Carol says no, because when told that a chaplain is on the way, the patient declares with a degree of vehemence unexpected of someone in his condition, that as Pastor Doojin Back of First Korean Methodist Church, Fort Lee, he needs no pastor. I vaguely recognized the name, a Korean, your countryman.”

“Well, Carol should have checked sooner to spare you a trip for nothing,” points out Charles, a junior Onc, indignantly. “You are entitled to the full fee.”

“No, I can forget the fee, peanuts anyway. What bothers me is that Back, a pastor, should reject a fellow pastor in his last hour of need.”

“Maybe he thought you were a Catholic,” Charles hazards a guess.

“No, I even told Carol that I was a Methodist like him but she said the patient’s order was categorical: no man of the cloth, regardless of religion or denomination. What kind of pastor is that? Believers, let alone pastors, pray for each other especially before death. Unless they don’t believe. That’s it. I don’t think he was ever a true believer. Poor fellow, to have labored all this time living a lie! To go to seminary in Korea he must have sworn he believed, right?”

“One can always lie, especially if one’s livelihood depends on it,” Charles holds forth. “Buddhism, the dominant religion of Korea right up to the end of the Korean War, was notorious for its large priesthood, scoundrels with shaved heads in grey monk’s garb. Christianity, its successor, can’t be that much different, given the same population base. But there is an important difference, the US factor, a strong motivation for ordinary Koreans to lie about their Christianity. Modernization of Korea is actually Americanization as laid down by its missionaries. Syngman Rhee, the first President of South Korea, and other so-called leaders of Korea were all church altar boys sponsored by the missionaries to come to the States for American education. Aware of this bias in the US immigration policy many aspiring Koreans became Christians overnight and went to seminary as the shortcut to the US. Even in the 1960’s when I came over, these charlatans had to just wave their seminary or church affiliation to breeze through the INS gate, whereas the rest of us had to prove our academic and professional credentials. Once here, in the land of opportunity, some of them would quickly doff their clerical vestments and go into business, but most stuck around, finding American Christianity, especially among the immigrant communities, soft and juicy for the squeezing.”

“Okay,” Don cuts him short. “This dying fellow countryman of yours has opened my eyes. I am no better than he, a parasite on the body of Christ. Too old to start over, I can’t revoke my Social Security benefit or the Methodist pension, but at least I don’t have to go on sucking for more.” Pulling out his cell phone he punches in the Valley Hospital number. “Carol, Bishop Don here. Don’t call me any more… No, it’s got nothing to do with this morning. Just tell the Board I have quit. Goodbye.”

Billionaire Mentality

I know exactly how a billionaire feels and thinks because I was one, a bona fide Korean billionaire, purchasing power adjusted, for a few months before the Korean stock market crash of 1962 (see On Republication of A Korean Decameron (1961) under a Harvard Grant: boleafbooks.com and amazon.com, 1-18-2019, typakmusings.com).

Too brief a tenure to count? No, it’s long enough, actually more than long enough, because it takes only an instant for the billionaire mentality to sink in and take hold, the microsecond you realize your net worth has hit 10 or more digits in current US dollars.

1. Miniaturization

All of a sudden the whole world looks small, especially the bugs called human beings. You know you can hire them, such a multitude of them like so many grains of sand on the sea shore, all scoopable by a bucketful and replaceable. Of course you would watch where to scoop or how much, because you don’t want to waste your net worth, large but finite, as you are well aware.

2. Trivialization

Whatever they have to say or do with passion and conviction seems so insignificant and you ignore or tolerate them, because you can make them change their tune any time, paying the right price. Moreover, if you hanker for some kind of fame as a savant or saint, you can just hire an expert in a field as ghost writer, but soon you spurn the idea, discovering how in a heart beat these experts would throw away anything of value they have to be in your place.

3. Power

You feel contented, endorphins generally at high tide, secure in the knowledge that you are unassailable, because you can blow away any adversary. If an irritant cannot be bought off, you can always sic a lawyer on it or thugs, the real professionals with pride in their reputation of un-traceability for services rendered. In my time most major Korean cities had such honorable cosa nostras.

4. Boredom

Why does sensual pleasure pale and dull? Not that desire weakens. On the contrary, it becomes more imperious, demanding instant gratification you feel entitled to as a billionaire.

My recollection after I made my first billion is that I couldn’t bear to go to old haunts where I had eaten boolgogi 불고기 hway 회 gomtang 곰탕 with gusto only the day before. In fact, I couldn’t believe I had been in those dumps. So I had to go to the top restaurants at hotels or elite private ones called yojung 요정 boasting culinary pedigrees from the royal court but the food still fell short.

To my credit, while craving for sensual nirvana, I didn’t take to drugs or drinks. Early on my Grandfather of Decameron fame had instilled in me a phobia of addiction. I wish he had done the same with the other sensuality, sex.

Instant was my dissociation with young maidens out on the prowl for husbands and stingy with opening their legs. Mature, glamorous women of a different persuasion popped up galore, wives of potentates in politics and finance who now held the family purse strings to let the husbands do their grand public things. The first of them I met naturally at the brokerage, because she had to be on hand like me to put in bids as the market moved from moment to moment. Then there were others, not necessarily stock traders. Tired of their husbands, however powerful and famous, who they knew had their mistresses stashed away somewhere, they came trotting to my pad at the Bando.

Cruelty, Thy Name is Humankind: The Dying Cry of “A-i-go 아이고” from Korean Galley Slaves

“No nostalgia, no lingering memories for the country you left 55 years ago in 1965 when you were 27?” asks Marcia Noh, incredulous, a 2nd generation Korean American reporter with a major national newspaper.

“No,” explodes Dr. Charles Song, an eminent pathologist, retired. “I’d seen enough revenge killings between North and South Korea during the War (1950-53), my father its victim, then the smoldering hatreds, jealousies, discriminations, machinations afterwards. I can puke just thinking about them.”

“I didn’t mean to distress you, Dr. Song,” she says, pushing the box of tissue on the table toward him. “I apologize for having been so insistent on the interview. Our generation, your children and grandchildren born and raised here, are still slope-head, slit-eye Koreans to the rest of America, and need something to be proud of about their ethnic heritage. As a prominent Korean American I thought you would be able to help. But I understand. Your generation has been through a lot. So forget it. We’ll find something on our own, like looking up Admiral Sun-sin Yi (1545-98) in Wikipedea. When asked, after imprisonment, torture, and demotion to a private due to false accusations by his jealous enemies, he still steps up to the plate and saves his country from Japanese occupation by defeating their navy battle after battle. He redeems Korea, however irredeemable it gets.”

“In his War Diary (1592-98) there is a curious footnote to his great victory at the Myungnyang Strait on Oct 26, 1597,” Charles recalls, brows knit. “Moments before the burning Japanese ships sink he hears a group of men, galley slaves finally unshackled from their oars, bring up the rear after all hands had abandoned ship, and jump off, screaming A-i-go, the Korean lamentation before death, in utter despair, facing the sea roaring and rushing up in pitch darkness.”

“Koreans snatched by the Japanese marauders, the waygoo, 왜구, a constant scourge throughout Korea’s history, raiding not only coastal villages but deep into the country, capturing Koreans left and right,” Marcia notes. “Doesn’t that enrage you as a Korean? No wonder some consider your friend Ty Pak an anti-Korean traitor whose novel, The Polyglot, calls for the union of Korea and Japan.”

“You might as well fume and rage at a tornado, drought, or meteor strike. They raided the coasts of China, too. The Japanese were the Vikings of Asia. Do the British or French hold it against the Danes, Swedes, and Norwegians today after these many years? Besides the Japanese pirates were probably like the Somalian bandits today, no money, no food, at the end of their rope. Need for survival drives humans to extreme cruelty. I bet Koreans would have taken to piracy just as readily under the same circumstances which governments have a duty to prevent.”

“So you are full of understanding and compassion for the Japanese, Scandinavians, Somalians, but not for your own people, Koreans.”

“It’s harder with people close to you. Look how Sunnis and Shiites can’t get along, nor South Koreans and North Koreans.”

“But you are now here in America and should detach yourself from the bitterness of the bygone days. I thought Koreans from both halves should all be brought over here to give them some perspective so they can embrace and unite, but there is no point in that, if they are anything like you, Doctor Song.”

“Okay, you win, you and your Soonshin Yee. By the way, the other spelling is all wrong. If he can forgive and serve that lily-livered moron, coward, and joke of a king Sunjo who almost kills him, I guess I should be able to do the same with the current inhabitants of Korea, North and South, like Ty Pak’s characters vis-a-vis the Japanese. Read the book more closely. He is no traitor to his heritage.”

An Open Letter to Chairman Jongun Kim, North Korea: Be the Savior of Humankind! (Korean version attached)

Dear Chairman Kim,

Wishing to look down on a beautiful earth, not a nuclear wasteland, after their passing, sooner rather than later for some of them, the Oncs (see Immortality Club, 8-2-2018, typakmusings.com) call on you to immortalize yourself, not with an ephemeral Nobel Peace Prize but with the title, Savior of Humankind, that will endure through the eons in the cosmic calendar, as long as the sun shall last and beyond, by giving Trump what he wants, denuclearization of North Korea subject to

(1) Verification by a detect-and-destroy team (DDT), comprising experts from all the national or supranational entities with nuclear capabilities, current or potential, namely China, England, France, India, Iran, NATO (composed of Belgium, Germany, Italy, Netherlands, and Turkey), Pakistan, Russia, and USA, empowered and equipped with the means necessary to search and demolish, unless recyclable for industrial use, all known or suspected nuclear weapons, ready or in preparation, with local cooperation whenever asked for, and to continue monitoring by on-site inspection or remote surveillance to prevent any attempt at resumption on whatever scale; provided

(2) A similar DDT be decreed, with adequate manpower and means to perform member-specific DD work for each of the 9 entities noted in (1) and sent to their capitals, namely, Beijing, London, Paris, New Delhi, Tehran, Brussels, Islamabad, Moscow, and Washington, DC, to coincide with the arrival in Pyungyang of the North Korean DDT, while, simultaneously, the heads of the 9, namely, Xi, May, Macron, Modi, Rouhani, Stoltenberg, Alvi, Putin, and Trump, gather in Pyungyang to meet with you and form the Council of 10 to sign a Nuclear Eradication Treaty (NET), replacing the previous Nonproliferation Treaty, limited in scope and discriminatory in spirit, which will be the signal for the 10 DDT’s to set to work.

Trust us, Chairman Kim: the NET will be signed unanimously and promptly at that, because they have all been waiting for this escape from the nuclear dilemma. A knows he won’t be the first to use a nuclear weapon for fear of mutual assured destruction (MAD), because he is not suicidal or filicidal, having children and grandchildren. Nor is anybody else, B, C,…, least of all you despite your bluff that fooled everybody but us, made wiser by some of our number with Korean ancestry. So the fraternity of 10 goes on holding onto something no one will ever use but can’t dump either for fear of creating an exploitable weakness. Unless everybody dumps at the same time. But who will bell the cat? No one wants to be the first to propose it lest he be perceived chicken. “Stuck, unable to push or pull,” goes the crude Korean saying to describe the canine “tie” after mating. The absurdity of the nuclear dilemma deserves no better metaphor. Hail Chairman Kim, untier of the obscene gang tie. As a corollary to your epochal master stroke there will follow

(3) Cancellation of all sanctions against North Korea and Iran. Moreover,

(4) The Council will endorse the Charter for World Government, following the example of the NET, inasmuch as

(4.1) Denuclearization still leaves huge armed forces, which may spark conventional wars, perhaps almost as deadly as nuclear, considering the advances in technology, killing hundreds of millions, maybe billions. Here again you may take the initiative in undoing the gang tie: unleash DDT’s to reduce and ultimately abolish conventional weapons and armed forces by excision of their basic motivation: take a neighbor’s territory or repel invasion. The Charter will show the futility of territorial obsession: wealth is in technological innovation, not territorial aggrandizement, as shown by Singapore. Freezing the status quo of all border disputes for referral to a Supreme Court countries will have their defense budgets freed up for investment in infrastructure, housing, health, space exploration.

(4.2) To protect the world from violation of the NET or Charter, however, a sufficient police force will be maintained by recruiting a crack militia of volunteers from each nation to be placed under a Supreme Command comprising 7 Regional Commanders based on different continents.

(4.2.1) East Asian Command (China, Taiwan, Russia, North and South Korea, and Japan, headquartered in Pyungyang)

(4.2.2) Southeast Asian Command (Philippines, Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, Brunei, Thailand, Myanmar, Australia, New Zealand, headquartered in Singapore)

(4.2.3) South Asian Command (Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, India, Pakistan headquartered in Colombo)

(4.2.4) Middle Eastern Command (Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Jordan, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, United Arab Emirates, and Israel, headquartered in Jerusalem)

(4.2.5) European Command (all the EU nations plus Britain, headquartered in Brussels)

(4.2.6) African Command (Egypt, South Africa, and all other nations in between, headquartered in Malta)

(4.2.7) American Command (both North, Central, and South America, headquartered in Panama City)

(4.2.8) The Supreme Command, combining (4.2.1) through (4.2.7), will be headquartered in Honolulu.

(4.2.9) To ensure the globalism of the Supreme Command all the personnel in the Command structure will be rotated from region to region.

(5) Modification and Eventual Repeal of National Sovereignty

Gone is the specter of war, nuclear or conventional, and the world will have a new lease on life, resolving all issues by negotiation and compromise, not force. For example, the current trade war between the US and China will be resolved with give and take on both sides. North and South Korea will tear down the dumb DMZ and unite separated families. Similarly, Korea and Japan will settle the comfort women issue by negotiation. If not, off they go to the Supreme Court, whose decision is enforced by the Supreme Command.

Nations will become individuals in a civilized, peaceful community ready to go to court (see Revise the 3 R’s to 4 R’s and Make America the First All-Lawyer Nation to Root Out Violence, 11-22-2018, typakmusings.com) without resorting to violence. National sovereignty where a country is supreme and bows to no authority will be a thing of the past, a distant memory. The Supreme Command will be the world government of, by, and for the nations and peoples of the earth, the long dream of humanity.

A whole new chapter in human existence and civilization begins the moment you share this letter and tell Trump, uniquely capable of thinking outside the box, to come on over to Pyungyang.

Yours truly,
ONCS, Ridgewood, NJ
Dec 6, 2018

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북조선 김정은 의장께 드리는 공개서한: 인류의 구제자가 되시라!

친애하는 김의장,

죽은 뒤 핵 황무지가 아니라 아름다운 지구를 내려다보고 싶은 간절한 심정에서 특히 갈 길이 촉박한 동료들의 초조감을 감안하여 고령자회 ONCS (typakmusings.com, 8-2-2018 기사 “불사 클럽” 참조) 회원들은 김의장이 트럼프가 원하는 북조선 비핵화에 선뜻 응 함으로서 흔한 평화 노벨상이 아니라 태양이 비취는 한 또 그 이후로도 우주 달력의 영겁을 통하여 빛날 불멸의 칭호 인류 구제자가 되시기를 호소하는 바 그 비핵화는

(1) 중국, 영국, 불란서, 인도, 이란, NATO (벨지염, 독일, 이태리, 화란, 터키로 구성), 파키스탄, 러시아, 미국, 현재 또는 잠재적 핵보유 국가 내지 초 국가 단체로부터 파견된 핵 전문가로 조직 되여 필요하면 현지 협력을 받으며 알려진 또는 의심되는 완성 또는 준비단계 핵무기 일체를 수색하여 산업용 재생가능의 경우를 제외하고 이를 완전 파괴하며 현지 답사 또는 원격 감시를 통하여 어느 규모로 던 핵 재개의 기도를 방지하기에 필요한 모든 권한과 수단이 부여된 탐지 파괴 단 (DDT)에 의하여 확인하며;

(2) 이와 비슷한 DDT가 (1)에 열거된 9단체 각자에게도 배정 되여 그에 적절한 탐지 파괴 DD 역활을 하기에 충분한 인력과 장비를 갖춰 북조선 DDT가 평양에 도착함과 동시에 베이징, 런던, 파리, 뉴데리, 테란, 브랐셀스, 이스라마받, 모스코, 워싱톤 등 그들 해당 수도에 도착하며 또 같은 시간에 시, 메이, 메크론, 모디, 루하니, 스톨톤버그, 애비, 푸틴, 트람프가 평양에 와서 당신을 만나 10인 협의회를 개최하고 제한된 범위에 차별적이던 과거 핵확산 방지 조약을 대체하는 핵 박멸 조약 (NET)을 체결하며 이를 신호로 10개 DDT가 각자 해당 지역에서 작업을 개시 하는바

김의장, 우리를 믿어 주시요: 다들 핵 디레마에서 빠져 나올 기회만 기다리고 있었기에 NET 는 만장 일치로 더구나 신속히 조인 됩니다. 자살 성향이거나 자녀 내지 손 자녀를 가진 자로 자기 자손 살해성 정신 병자가 아닌 한 갑이 상호 확증 파멸 (MAD)을 겁 내여 핵 무기를 먼저 쓰지 못할 뿐 아니라 을, 병,…도 그리 못하며 더구나 세상 사람은 다 속더라도 조선인 핏줄을 가진 회원이 있어 우리는 안 속은 당신의 엄포에도 불구하고 당신도 물론 그러지 못합니다. 그래서 10인조는 아무도 영영 사용 못할 것인 줄 알면서 없으면 약점이 될까 봐 못 버리고 움켜 쥐고 있습니다. 단 모두가 동시에 버리면 되겠는데 고양이 목에 어느 쥐가 방울을 달겠습니까? 아무도 겁쟁이로 보일까 봐 이를 제안 못 하고 얼빠져 있음은 마치 개가 교접 후 빼지 못하고 묶여 있음을 형용하는 막된 조선어 표현 “빼도 박도 못하는” 교착이며 핵 디레마의 어리석음을 꿰뚫는 비유입니다. 김의장, 당신이야 말로 이 해괴 망칙한 집단 교미 교착을 푸는 해방자가 될 것이며 당신의 절묘한 이 기원적 처사로

(3) 북조선과 이란에 대한 모든 제재는 해소 될 것이며 나아가

(4) 협의회는 NET의 본을 따라 세계 정부 헌장을 체결할 것인바, 그 까닭은

(4.1) 비핵화 하더라도 핵 무기 못지않은 파괴력을 가진 고도 기술 장비로 무장한 거대한 군대가 확산 되여 있어 수억 아니 수조의 인명을 앗아 갈수 있는 전통적 전쟁의 유발이 가능한 만큼 여기에 다시 한번 집단 교미 교착을 푸는 선두 주자로서의 당신의 역량을 발휘하여 이웃의 영토를 뺏으려는 공격이던 빼앗기지 않도록 침범을 막겠다는 방어이던 군비의 근본적 동기를 없애고, DDT를 동원하여 남은 모든 전통적 무기와 군대를 주리고 마침내 소멸되게 하소서. 씽가포르가 보여주듯 기술 혁신에 부가 있지 영토 확장에 있지 않음을 헌장은 명시하고 모든 국경 분쟁은 현상에서 동결하여 최고 법원에 의뢰 하며 나라마다 국방 예산에서 풀리는 돈으로 기반 시설, 주택, 보건, 우주 탐험에 투자하게 될 것인바

(4.2) NET 와 헌장의 위반으로부터 세계를 보호하기 위하여 각국에서 발탁된 정예 자원 민병대를 각 대륙에 기지를 둔 7개 지역 사령관이 바침하는 최고 사령부 산하에 두는 바

(4.2.1) 동아세아 사령부 (평양에 본부를 둔 중국, 대만, 로시아, 북 남 조선, 일본)

(4.2.2) 남동 아세아 사령부 (씽가포르에 본부를 둔 피리핀, 월남, 라오스, 캄보디아, 마레지아, 씽가포르, 인도네시아, 브르네이, 태국, 먄마, 호주, 뉴지랜드)

(4.2.3) 남 아세아 사령부 (코롬보에 본부를 둔 스리 랑카, 방그라데시, 인도, 파키스탄)

(4.2.4) 중동 사령부 (예루살렘에 본부를 둔 아프카니스탄, 이란, 이락, 씨리아, 조단, 터키, 싸우디 아라비아, 예먼, 아람 에미리트, 이스라엘)

(4.2.5) 유럽 사령부 (브라쎌스에 본부를 둔 EU국들과 영국)

(4.2.6) 아프리카 사령부 (몰타에 본부를 둔 에짚트 와 남 아프리카 및 그 사이와 옆으로 있는 모든 나라들)

(4.2.7) 아메리카 사령부 (파나마 시에 본부를 둔 남, 북, 중앙 아메리카)

(4.2.8) 이상 (4.2.1) ~ (4.2.7) 지역 사령부가 호노루루에 본부를 둔 최고 사령부의 관할 하에 운영 하며

(4.2.9) 총사령부의 세계적 참여를 확보하기 위하여 사령부 인원은 지역에서 지역으로 순환 근무 함으로서

(5) 국가 주권은 수정되고 궁극적으로 철폐 되는 바

핵이던 전통적이던 전운은 가시고 세계적으로 모든 분쟁은 힘이 아니라 협상과 타협으로 해결하는 새로운 역사가 시작, 예를 들어 현재 미국과 중국 사이의 무역 전쟁은 쌍방 양보로 해결되며 북조선과 남조선은 멍청한 휴전선을 타파하고 이산가족을 결합시킬 것이며 마찬가지로 조선과 일본은 위안부 문제를 협상할 것인바 안되면 최고 사령부가 그 판정을 집행하는 최고 재판소로 가게 될 것임으로

개인들이 쉽게 재판소 출입하여 평화로운 문명 사회를 이루듯 (typakmusings.com, 11-22-2018 기사, “읽기 쓰기 산술 3 기본에 4차 요소 법을 첨가, 미국을 최초 전국 변호사 국가로 만들어 폭력을 발본색원 하라” 참조) 국가들도 폭력을 폐지하고 국가는 최고이며 어느 권위에도 굴복하지 않는다는 주권 개념은 과거 유물, 먼 기억으로 제쳐 놓고 최고 사령부는 지구상 모든 국가와 인민의 소유이며 그들을 위하고 그들에 의하여 운영되는 인류가 오래도록 꿈 꿔온 세계 정부가 될 것인바

김의장, 유일하게 틀에서 벗어난 파격적 사고가 가능한 트럼프에게 이 편지를 보이며 평양으로 오라고 이르면 인류 존재와 문명의 획기적 새 아침의 동이 트리다.

2018년 12월 6일
미국 뉴저지 리지우드 고령자 회 ONCS올림

Go Home, Caravans of Migrants!

Turn around and go home! Harnessing the momentum that has brought you this far and enlisting many more of your countrymen to join your ranks, march on your capital and overthrow your corrupt, dysfunctional government!

What kind of government stands idly by, letting its nationals stage a shameful scene in plain view of the whole world, openly declaring their determination to break into another country, come hell or high water, because theirs is worse than that?

I speak as someone who has been where you are. After its war (1950-53) which killed as many as 20% of its population according to some estimates, Korea was a hell everyone wanted to escape, America the destination of choice though out of reach: the Pacific stood in the way, not to mention the near zero Asian quota. Most gave up and hunkered down to remake their nation, South Korea, and they did succeed after decades, as their current prosperity shows.

But those irreversibly disaffected did not give up and clawed and hammered at the door of the US Embassy to be told to go through the procedure, legally. They did, waiting in line, taking years, decades in some cases.

Don’t let the land connection fool you. Consider it the Pacific Ocean. The US border, walled, barb-wired, and guarded, effectively with military combat readiness, is simply impenetrable. No amount of banging your heads against it would make any difference and your exhausting trek across Mexico would have been for nothing. Go back and reform your nation, or come in legally.

CNN in Denial: See, Hear, Speak No Evil

CNN is doing what the Three Wise Japanese Monkeys do: see, hear, or speak no evil, in the belief that it would vanish. As of Oct 22, 2018, 5:40 p.m., the Google list of CNN’s latest news headlines does not include the caravan, now swollen to 8,000 strong, on its relentless march to the US southern border. How can CNN sink this low?

But, a jealous Korean (see The Polyglot: Union of Korea and Japan, amazon.com), I am mostly miffed because CNN chooses to obey a Japanese maxim, instead of Korean, which says, “Close your eyes and roar like a tiger and you’ll scare it away.” No, its MO is Japanese through and through.

Simply, mum is the word and business as usual the motto for CNN, ignoring the mounting tension and anxiety of every American, all eyes on the horde growing by the hour like a swarm of African army ants on the move, trampling down the token Mexican barricade and inexorably heading for the bigger prey, United States.

I am getting gas at a BP station and the attendant comes over, flashing a professional smile. Presenting a Visa I tell him to fill up with regular. Instead of jumping to it he asks for “hip coh” or something similar. Getting over my perplexity I supply my zip code. When he returns with the card and receipt I ask where he is from. Proudly he declares, “Honduras.”

“Oh, what do you think of your countrymen, thousands of them, coming over to our country?”

“Terrible!” he shouts, face reddening. “We should stop them. President Trump should stop them. Right away.”

“But don’t you want more of your own countrymen here?” I ask but never hear the answer as he rushes off to another customer just pulling in.

Wait! There is a squeak. I have found one casual reference to the approaching tsunami, buried among the heap of trivial headlines.

Flake: Trump’s caravan tweet a ‘fear tactic’.

Unbelievable! So it’s a trick of some sort manufactured by Trump? Sounds very much like the Democrat Congresswoman who suggests the possibility that Trump may be paying for the whole thing. On the Fox News at that. When vehemently denied by another panelist she dismisses it as a joke. Is it time for jokes, though? The squeak is not meant to be heard, certainly not a roar. CNN and the Democrats simply don’t get it.

All Aboard Choo Choo Train to Trump Land MAGA!: Witch Hunt Is Over!

Finally, it is full speed ahead all the way to the Trump Land of American Greatness, Mueller’s Witch Hunt wrecked by a triple whammy and cleared off the tracks.

1. Indicted Russians Demand Discovery

To look good, to prove that he is not wasting time (for nearly 2 years) and money ($25 million of tax payer money and counting) Mueller casually dashes off 13 indictments (see Mueller’s Russian Indictments: A Copout, 7-24-2018, typakmusings.com), cocksure that would be the end of it. The indicted Russians, none of whom have come to the States before (and yet of course colluded with Trump) would bother to travel all the way across the ocean, spending time and money. In the meantime by the grandstanding he accomplishes two things: (a) names and shames the absentees thereby fixing the suspicion of collusion more firmly on Trump’s head and (b) shrugs the Trumpers off his back and gets his tenure extended, until at least past the midterm elections in November, 2018, when a Blue Wave brings a Democratic majority to the House and impeaches Trump, regardless how his Special Investigation fares.

Lo and behold, the darn Russians show up and demand disclosure of his evidence against them. This time he cannot hem and haw or redact, as his DOJ and FBI cronies do, thumbing their nose at Congress. This is a US Federal Court, where a defendant’s right to discovery is constitutionally guaranteed. But compliance means the end of the Witch Hunt, as it incriminates the top echelons of DOJ and FBI, including Mueller himself and his pal Rosenstein, who signs off on FISA applications and appoints him Special Counsel.

Mueller and his minions, yes, all those smug elite lawyers are currently not smirking but racking their brains, brows knit, to figure out how they may extricate themselves from this hole of their own digging. They can’t. The game’s up. They have no alternative but to drop the indictments in toto, refusing discovery for national security reasons, and become the laughing stock of the whole world.

But in defeat is Mueller man enough to throw in the towel and own up, confessing that the Hunt has been a hoax all along? No, he still has Manafort who, threatened with a 3 centuries-plus jail term, might flip on Trump, just as Cohen did, though in vain.

2. Rick Gates, the Embezzler and Fraud

But the Manafort trial on which Mueller has been betting his bottom dollar is falling apart. His star witness Rick Gates, a long-time associate of Manafort’s plea-bargained to squeal on Manafort, turns out to have zero credibility: an embezzler, liar, adulterer. Whatever he has to say against Manafort will only boost him who, so reinforced, won’t turn on Trump, however deep Mueller may dig, maybe way back to his conception.

How absurd, how sad for America! Mueller and vermin of his ilk should have been squelched at the outset and the responsibility for the omission rests squarely with Ellis, the presiding judge. Granted he has repeatedly come down hard on Mueller for minutiae, like looking down, not up when talking to his Highness, and is steering the trial toward acquittal or guilty verdict on some charge unrelated to the purpose of Mueller’s appointment. In fact, Ellis is responsible for the whole Witch Hunt dragging out this long, ruling as he did in May 2017 upon perusal of Rosenstein’s appointment letter, that Mueller is indeed empowered to pursue “any links” whatsoever related to Russia and Trump, laying the blame on Rosenstein for giving such an unfettered fishing license to Mueller.

Attached below is the one-page document which clearly shows that Ellis has not read it closely enough and has allowed himself to be manipulated by Rosenstein’s deliberately ambiguous verbiage, thereby missing the whole point of the investigation, Russian collusion with Trump. Often woodsmen lose sight of the forest on account of the trees.

Instead of focusing on the headline in bold letters, investigate Russian interference with the 2016 presidential election and related matters, Ellis is lost in the text and gets fixated on one phrase, “any links,” perhaps betraying his penchant for minutiae, and strays from the controlling clause, “any matters that arose or may arise directly from the investigation.” The key words are “related” and “directly”. Of course such degree of ambiguity wouldn’t pass muster in English 101 but Rosenstein, the elite genius, composes this garbage, perhaps counting on its misinterpretation by his elite fellow jurists. Ellis rebukes Mueller for obsessing with Manafort’s lavish lifestyle, not because it is strictly forbidden by the language of the charging document but out of common sense. Had the mandate been properly interpreted, the nation would have been spared the tragicomic agony of the charade called Manafort trial.

3. A Giant Red Wave

Mueller’s calculation to hang on and ride the Blue Wave has been shattered. In Ohio Balderson, a Trump Republican, is a winner (though his opponent does not concede as of this writing, 11:16 p.m. EDT, 8-8-2018), making Republican gains 8 out of 9 and confirming the Republican majority of the House. Mueller’s hopes for Trump impeachment by Congress have a snowflake’s chance in hell.

[The PDF file is not copying and other means are being sought. In the meantime Google “Mueller Appointment Letter.]

Who Wins the Trade War, US or China?

On Aug 5, 2018, the first Sunday of the month, the ONCS at Ridgewood United Methodist Church, Ridgewood, NJ (see Immortality Club, 8-2-2018, typakmusings.com) had as its guest speaker J, who had grown up in the church before going off to teach political science at universities in Asia.

Dispensing with a formal presentation he invites the group’s participation in a Q&A session and goes straight to the burning question of the day, especially in the Democrat majority state: will America survive the consequences of the trade war set off by Trump’s foolhardy tariffs on Chinese goods?

“For a while,” J concludes after surveying the statistics, billions, even trillions of dollars worth of goods across the board to sustain modern American lifestyle. “With stopgap subsidies to those who scream like the soybean growers. The Chinese are smart and punch back right where it hurts most, the soft underbelly of America.”

“But the EU has offered to buy our soybeans?” I suggest, hoping for the superfluity of their subsidy.

“Only a fraction of what China can buy,” counters M, an Onc and dedicated Trump detractor. “Tofu is still not a staple of European diet.”

“Right,” J is on a roll. “But American vulnerability is not limited to soybeans. The American body is soft everywhere, not just the underbelly. For the last few decades it has soaked, submerged in the numbing sweet elixir of Chinese manufacture and the subsidies will multiply ballooning the budget until it pops. Either subsidies will cease or rampant inflation stalk the land, Americans everywhere screaming for Trump’s blood.”

“But the Chinese will suffer, too,” I hazard. “Look at the steel furnaces firing up all over America. China has mountains of steel they cannot dump anywhere except maybe in the South China Sea to build their idiotic islands.”

“Okay,” J concedes. “It comes down to pain tolerance and, unlike Americans, the Chinese are known for unlimited capacity. Their whole history is endurance. They just suffer and wait for years and years, generation after generation. Remember Deng Xiaoping’s answer when asked by an American journalist what he thought of the French Revolution (1789-99): it’s too early to tell.”

“After two centuries?” I laugh in disbelief. “I don’t think he went to school beyond sixth grade. No, the Chinese I know bleed and scream just as much as any American, and are just as incontinent and foolhardy like us. Okay, like Trump. But he has a better chance of prevailing because Chinese exposure is greater than ours. Suppose trading stops this instant. They’ll have ten times more stuff rotting on the docks of Shanghai than ours on both coasts. Look at all the megacities they have built and can’t fill, the trillion dollar One Belt One Road Plan, including the New Eurasian Land Bridge (Railroad), to dominate global trade, all a flop. No capacity can take that much hurt.”

“Look,” M, an idealist and humanist at heart, tries to raise the discussion to a higher level. “All these tariffs and trade wars will disappear if we have a global government, a global United States or EU magnified. Just as Massachusetts won’t drop a nuclear bomb on Vermont for deep sea fishing rights, we won’t bomb Russia or China or vice versa about who makes what.”

“Speaking of nuclear bombs, we should get along with Russia and China to survive and trade wars are certainly not the way to go about it,” J agrees. “Clinton let slip a golden opportunity right after the collapse of the USSR. Weak and clueless, Russia would have joined NATO and a Transatlantic Federation, TF, could have emerged, which would have eventually brought China into the fold, the rest of the world following suit. But he had to bow to the Polish lobby.”

“Isn’t Trump’s meeting with Putin in Helsinki a prelude to TF?” I jump to peddle my idea (see Helsinki 2018: the Finest Hour of American Diplomacy, 7-19-2018, typakmusings.com).

“Not immediately after he beefs up the NATO budget by hundreds of billions with new member contributions,” opines S, a recognized sage among the Oncs. “But in time the additional financial burden may make the Europeans or the Americans howl or even the Russians for that matter. The best scenario is for them all to blink and yell, Enough! at the same time, instead of playing chicken to the bitter end, towards MAD, mutual assured destruction.”

“Such simultaneity would be facilitated by interracial, intercultural, international marriage like J’s,” I mention, referring to his gracious Chinese wife who has given him two gorgeous Eurasian children, and go on to plug my book. “That is exactly the theme of The Polyglot: Union of Korea and Japan, amazon.com, where the protagonist, a Korean with Russian and Central Asian upbringing, marries an American girl, and also discovers that his biological father is a Japanese tycoon, not a famous Korean patriotic poet married to his Korean doctor mother. It urges the union of the two historic rivals, Korea and Japan, a similar invitation to China in its sights. Asia so unified will join the TF. Your World Union, M, would ensue as a superstructure anchored to such firm regional bases, rather than a federation of individual states.”

“I can’t agree more strongly,” J chimes in, and takes down the title of the book, promising to incorporate it in his curriculum. I love this guy. Too bad I cannot talk more fully about his identity or vision about US and China relations. Perhaps I have given away too much as it is, catching him off guard. He must have thought he is with his old home church crowd, especially its Oncs, the terminals, who would surely take whatever they learn to the grave. In addition to his scholarly work and teaching he has close dealings with the Chinee government in an advisory capacity under an implicit NDA (nondisclosure agreement). I hope what I have disclosed so far does not come to haunt him. To be fair, however, he hasn’t revealed anything all that secret. Anyone with internet access could have figured it out.

Jim Jordan: Next Speaker and President

On May 21, 2018, at a gathering of the Freedom Caucus in Washington, D.C., Rep. Jim Jordan gave a talk on the basic values of America, work, discipline, willingness to take risks to get things done, ignoring easy-goers, naysayers. It was verily a breath of fresh air, a “pin drop speech” as billed by YouTube.

A natural, extemporaneous speaker he articulates his thoughts simultaneously as they form in the head, or so it seems. With no time for selection or labored embellishment they shoot out like machine gun bullets to blow the cocky smile off the face of Deputy AG Rosenstein and compel his compliance with congressional demand for the FISA documents.

But in a friendly setting as now they shower flower petals, jewels, or manna, as the case may be, that soothe, cheer, thrill, or inflame. His lifelong motto has been Do what you said you would do. “There is one guy doing that in town,” he says, namely, President Trump, who has cut taxes, shored up the economy, defeated ISIS, … In comparison, the Congress has failed miserably time and again, he illustrates, taking the easy way out.

His voice rings out clarion clear with no hint of hoarseness (due to laryngeal impairment by acid reflux or otherwise), thanks perhaps to his “majoring in wrestling”: in college he was top state wrestler year after year, as well as serving as assistant wrestling coach. Making light of his formal education, MA in economics and JD, he is a quick study, distinguishing himself as an innovative and responsible legislator (Ohio State Legislature 1995-2006, US Congress 2007 – current). More recently, he has been brilliant in the House oversight role breaking open the deep-state hangers-on in the DOJ and FBI to prevent their complicity in the Witch Hunt for Russian collusion from imploding America (Overhaul of DOJ and Government Staffing: No Lawyers, 7-5-2018, typakmusings.com).

Firmly rooted in his Midwest upbringing and grateful and humble to serve and lead when elected in whatever role, he is not likely to put on elitist airs and will carry the torch passed on by Trump in 2024 to KEEP AMERICA GREAT (see Manifesto of Radical Democracy, 5-26-2014, typakmusings.com). The country should rally behind his bid for Speaker of the House now and give him full 6 years of tutelage alongside his exemplar and congenial colleague and companion to be 46th President of the US.

Immortality Club

Earlier this year we had the induction, willy-nilly, of S, a Korean American, as the youngest Onc, that is, a member of ONCS, Octo-Nona-Centenarian Society, formed informally at Ridgewood United Methodist Church, Ridgewood, NJ, subsequent to the posting of Candor about Age (1-23-2018, typakmusings.com).

Understandably he wasn’t all that thrilled, a reluctance shared by the others: it’s not like induction into a Hall of Fame. I have had to twist their arms to quit pussyfooting about their age (1-21-2018, typakmusings.com). Reciting Candor, I point out, uncharitably, that their declaration of Onchood comes as no surprise. They have been carrying the flashing beacons: droopy jowls, collapsed look at the mouth despite extensive dental work, grey hair, sneaking roots belying the dye, shuffling gait, geriatric stoop, generally sagging, sinking appearance, some wheelchair bound, too obvious to escape anyone’s notice, unlike the subtler signs displayed by the younger “I am not telling” or “forever 39” crowd.

But S has a particular reason to refuse identification with the other Oncs. He still is or imagines himself to be full of energy, playing golf 3 or 4 days a week. No, he is not one of those living dead, zombie like. Besides he has heard somewhere that in America those above 80, considered terminal cases, are looked upon with pity, if not loathing. Disingenuously I have persuaded him that ONCS is actually like the Biblical Senate to which all the rest of the church look up as repository of wisdom and guidance, that unlike Koreans who pay lip service to respect for the elderly Americans show it in action like Senior Supplemental Security Income.

Of course I haven’t told him that America, a youth worshiping culture, looks askance at Eithgy-plussers. During fellowship after church service the younger crowd shy away from us. Rubbing elbows with Oncs is bad investment timewise: they’ll all be goners in a few years, before or shortly after they turn 90, a knockout blow coming unpredictably from any part of the body, somewhat reminiscent of the punishment meted out in the old Chinese (Korean or Japanese?) military: a company of men is ordered to stand around and keep kicking the sack in which the prisoner is enclosed, until it slumps and goes still. No wonder they look upon us as residents of a hospice wheeled out for an outing, for social exposure, like a good meal before the execution.

Though the centenarian label is tacked on, that is, 100 or older, it’s just a wishful thought. The likelihood of any of us joining that stratum is 0.005%. Besides 99.99% of those few hundred thousand worldwide who cross the threshold perish in the first decade, and only a few dozen make the Supercentenarian rank, 115 or above. There is only one verified Supra-supercentenarian, Jeanne Calment (1875–1997) of France, who died at the age of 122 years, 164 days. There is no question of any human making it to the 8th or 9th century like some Old Testament patriarchs, let alone the millennium, not contemplated even in fertile Jewish memory. Not that it matters one way or another in the spectrum of eternity.

Actually we are glad they leave us alone. We don’t have much to say. No dicta impress us. Few of us ever quote anyone, be it a sage or a god. Not because our memory is failing but because so-called insight or wisdom sounds all so tawdry.

But we, hospice residents, may be rendering one salutary public service. Like the Anchor Boy graduating last and feted by the whole class at the Naval Academy for making everybody else look good in comparison, the Oncs give the non-Oncs a sense of safety and wellbeing, akin to that of a gladiator standing over a fallen opponent.

“Let’s change our group name to Immortality Club dedicated to the promotion of research and industry to bring about immortality,” S declares.

“But there is cellular senescence,” I add my two bits. “Our cells shut down after 50 cycles of division, because telomeres capping DNA wear out.”

“Nanotechnology will repair DNA damage and ultimately reverse senescence,” S is confident. “Humans will live forever, not in deep freeze or suspended animation, but in the prime of life, active and productive. Just imagine what the world will be like.”

“Can it be done before the end of the year?” asks W, the oldest Onc at 98.

“Not that soon. That’s why we should push it as a national movement and get it funded by the government, even setting up a new Department of Immortality.”

“That would be long after I am gone,” wails W. “So unfair! No, I want no part of it.”

CNN’s Modus Operandi: Decontextualization

On Jul 24, 2018 CNN does it again, confirming its modus operandi: decontextualization.

To refute Trump’s latest tweet that Russia might aid the Democrats in the 2018 mid-term elections because contrary to expectations he has been tough to Russia, Wolf Blitzer plays a clip from the Helsinki summit news conference 8 days before and asks viewers to judge for themselves whether Putin is pro-Trump or pro-Democrats.

A reporter asks a compound question: (1) Did Putin want Trump to win? and (2) Did Putin help him win in 2016?

Putin answers yes and goes on to address Question 1, explaining the reason for his preference: Trump wants to get along with Russia. Cutting him off Blitzer looks triumphantly at the camera, unspoken words shouting, QED. If the viewer had not watched the press conference in full, he or she would believe that Putin has admitted to meddling and collusion in 2016 and will do so again in 2018.

Had Blitzer left the video run a few more seconds the viewer would have heard Putin categorically say No to Question 2 and dismiss collusion as an absurdity.

History will show CNN and others for the fake media they are, depriving the world of knowledge (see CNN Fakery on the 8-22-2017 Trump Rally, 8-25-2017, typakmusings.com).

Mueller’s Russian Indictments: A Copout

In defiance of White House efforts at dissuasion the Mueller Russian collusion probe, on which the Impeach (Lynch) Trump mob has pinned its hopes, grandly announces indictments against 12 Russian nationals to coincide with the Trump-Putin summit on Jul 16, 2018.

If meant to be a dramatic warning of some sort to Trump as he meets Putin, it has made absolutely no impression. Right chummy with Putin, Trump has asked him to the White House, the first such invitation to a Russian head of state since Khrushchev in 1959. Actually, Mueller has made that gesture, knowing full well that the indictments cannot be enforced, there being no extradition treaty with Russia, underscored by Putin’s offer to Mueller to come over and interrogate the Russians charged, aware that Mueller will do no such thing.

Apart from their vacuity the Russian indictment strays into a fishing trip not sanctioned by his May 17, 2017 Special Counsel charter: Investigation into

“any links and/or coordination between the Russian government and individuals associated with the campaign of President Donald Trump, and any matters that arose or may arise directly from the investigation.”

Despite the misleading “any” it must be strictly interpreted to mean discovery of proof of Trump’s collusion with Putin rising to treason. After 1.2 years of digging there isn’t a “scintilla of evidence” supporting it, according to Rep. Gowdy. Moreover, if there is such collusion, it will show in action, such as Trump’s easing up on sanctions against Russia or giving other concessions. There is no hint of that. In fact, the opposite is the case, Trump escalating the sanctions. If Putin had been stiffed thereby, he would have stepped forward by now to get the welsher’s blood. He has not.

Nor do the 12 indictments stem “directly” from the specified purpose of the probe: Trump’s collusion. Instead they merely allege Russian meddling in US elections, as if that’s news. Russian meddling has been going on and will never stop. It’s part of their national policy. Nor should we be self-righteous and indignant: our CIA, NSA, FBI, etc. may have been doing something similar or worse to Russia and others all along.

But in the performance of this gratuitous labor Mueller’s team has been bewildered by the profligacy of their quarry. The Russians are simply drunk with meddling, lashing out in every which way with no direction or purpose. It would be nice and neat if they had hacked Hillary’s campaign only to dig up dirt on her to share and collude with Trump. Instead Russian operatives, all supposedly under Putin’s control, hack Trump, too, and supply Steele with material to script the Dossier for Hillary which in turn emboldens Rosenstein and crew to apply for FISA surveillance on the Trump campaign and appoint Mueller as Special Counsel.

Rep. Gowdy demands Mueller to end the witch hunt immediately, lest it should tear the nation apart, by bringing anybody to be charged to the “damn grand jury.” The vacuous Russian indictment won’t cut it. Devin Nunes and other Congressmen ask Trump to dissolve the probe but he won’t, because the I(L)T mob will go on forever with their litany that he did so because Mueller was getting too close for comfort.

Will Mueller terminate it voluntarily? No way. Because the facts protected by on-going investigation will all out and send to jail Rosenstein, Mueller, and a whole lot of the I(L)T mob for not only knowingly going on with the Dossier, even after its bogus nature became obvious only a few months into the probe, but also extending the fishing trip to the Middle East. Mueller will probably drag out the hunt until a Democratic President comes along to pardon him and his pals.

In the meantime the Russians are patting themselves on the back for embroiling America serendipitously in an unending feud which may, they hope, lead to its implosion and collapse (see Russians Having a Belly Laugh, 7-19-2017, typakmusings.com).

Helsinki 2018, the Finest Hour of American Diplomacy: Redemption for the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962

The reactions of the American media to the Trump-Putin summit in Helsinki on Jul 16, 2018 certify them as myopic, partisan, fake news and prove once and for all the old adage about the blind calling an elephant a snake as they feel only its trunk. They think Trump has diminished America by truckling to Putin, the big winner. On the contrary, Trump emerges the elder statesman and global peace maker/strategist showing the way for America and Russia to get along and hold in check China as well as other minor bullies, rogues, and terrorists.

One may even go as far as to say that Helsinki 2018 is the finest hour of American diplomacy and redeems the horror of the American macho “toughness” (more accurately, foolhardiness) displayed by Kennedy vis-a-vis Khrushchev 56 years ago over the Cuban Crisis, which could have ended life on earth. The blind talking heads and pundits are insensitive to the paramount imperative for America and Russia to get along, the chilling specter still hanging over our heads: 90% of the world’s nuclear warheads in the hands of the duo, each capable, if provoked, of turning the Earth singlehandedly into a dead planet many times over in the twinkling of an eye.

(1) Competitor, not Adversary

Adroitly, Trump turns a reporter’s ploy to trap the two men into an adversarial relationship by calling Russia a competitor, a compliment because competition is the mantra of capitalism, endorsed by Putin and other post-Soviet Russians. He foils another reporter’s attempt to make him eat his word, telling Merkel not to buy Russian gas and make Germany vulnerable, language reminiscent of the Cold War: it’s just salesmanship, he jests, trying to sell American surplus gas and oil. Trump, the master dealer, defuses the tension between the two countries by transforming possible armed conflict into humdrum commercial negotiation.

(2) Mum on Crimea

The blind fakes denounce Trump for failing to order the KGB thug to get out of Crimea, failing to note that the annexation is not so cut and dried or single dimensional. A seaside way station since time immemorial for every tribal or troop movement from the continent to the Black Sea and vice versa, Crimea was made part of Russia in 1783 and was assigned in 1954 from Russia to Ukraine, then both in the USSR, for rezoning purposes, and left as an “autonomous” appendage to Ukraine following the Soviet collapse in 1991 until its recent Russian takeover, which is not exactly a grab and gulp in the old imperialistic mode. It would be quixotic of America to rise up in indignation and go to war to force Russia to cough up Crimea. Wisely, therefore, Trump lets Putin state his case. Noting Trump’s standing opposition to the Russian intervention in 2014, Putin cites the overwhelming (95%) referendum in favor, 90% of the Crimeans speaking Russian. Trump lets it rest there, not because he is ignorant of the inflated statistics but because the alternative, restoration to Ukraine for whatever reason, is just not worth rocking the boat of friendship just launched between the two countries.

(3) Throwing US Intelligence Under the Bus on Russian Collusion and Meddling

In reply to a reporter’s question whether he wanted Trump to win, Putin frankly admits he did because Trump wanted to get along with Russia whereas Hillary didn’t, but categorically denies doing anything to bury her, like hacking into the Hillary campaign and digging up dirt on her to share and collude with Trump. “I didn’t know him in 2016 to collude with,” he says, though the translation seems somewhat mangled.

Citing Mueller’s indictment of 12 Russian intelligence officers a reporter tenaciously points out that based on indisputable US intelligence Russia has hacked into Hillary’s DNC. Putin denies this unequivocally and invites Mueller to come over and interrogate the persons charged. At this point the guy, a fake news stoolie with no qualms about putting his President on the spot, asks point blank whether he takes Putin’s word against his own US intelligence. Is Trump to wreck this once in a lifetime opportunity to get along with Russia by calling Putin a liar? Trump dodges the frontal attack and questions the infallibility of any intelligence service, including that of the US which to date has not produced Hillary’s server or missing emails. Of course this evasion, more accurately diplomatic finesse, is fuel for the firestorm at home, one CNN know-all solemnly declaring that Trump has thrown his own intelligence people under the bus.

Actually, Trump could have told Putin something like “collusion no but meddling yes,” even if it may have been to help him, and rebuked him, though good-naturedly. He is known to be blunt at his own expense. But there is no clear-cut evidence for meddling in his favor. In fact, hacking or false hacking went on in the other direction fueling the Witch Hunt unleashed by the FISA application based on the Trump dossier, Russian fabricated. If Russia was meddling, it was doing so in the most bizarre fashion imaginable, “peeing in both directions,” as a Korean saying goes about a drunken fool not knowing where the piss pot is. Trump is wise to stay clear of Russian meddling as it would question the sanity of the man whose goodwill he wants to win.

(4) Airing Dirty Laundry All Over the World

The visually impaired self-righteous patriotic media cannot fathom why Trump should mention Hillary’s destroyed emails and server, his running a clean campaign, and even slime like FBI agent Strzok, all domestic issues, not for the whole world to gloat over. Never has an American President behaved so despicably at an international forum. So unseemly, un-presidential, nay treasonous!

On the contrary, the self-styled patriots in fact diminish America, thinking these matters purely domestic, dirty laundry. They underestimate the importance of what goes on in American politics to Russia and the rest of the world, all getting a real time lesson on how democracy works, with all its limitations, ultimately for application to their own politics and government. Truly un-American are these Americans, who take an insular view of their role as the path finder for the whole world (see The American Age, 6-9-2014, typakmusings.com).

Just as we Americans appreciate Donald for his candor and transparency, so does the world, lapping up whatever the President of the US airs, especially his dirty laundry, to assure them we are all human after all, no matter our circumstances.

(5) Who is the Big Winner?

Particularly pathetic is a female talking head lamenting Trump’s appearance, a wimp compared to the manly self-assured Putin. Is she jealous of Melania? Throughout the whole encounter Trump comes across as a gracious, indulgent elder ready to take anything the junior might throw at him. Nor is Putin brash or cocky. If he is indeed the big winner as the fake media would have it, at least he doesn’t lord it over the loser. In fact, the opposite is the case: right cordial, deferential, respectful is he throughout. We can feel the good vibes between the two. Collusion? Putin with something on Trump? Give me a break. The tension has snapped “4 hours ago”, Helsinki time, Jul 16, 2018, and we may have just been ushered into a new era of coexistence and peace. The verdict:

Both have won big for the whole world.

Abolish Speed Limits: US Public Enemy Number One

It is taken for granted in America that speed limits are posted to be ignored and exceeded, safely by 10 miles but, with progressive riskiness, by 20, 30, or more, “risk” here meaning not physical or mechanical danger associated with high speed but the likelihood of getting nailed by the cops. The trick is to look out for them hiding in ambush with their speed gun and slow down in time. This cat and mouse game is honed to a fine art, starting from the moment one leaves the privacy of home and jumps in the car to interact with society, with the world, where law kicks in, until he or she returns home.

Is such behavior, such mentality consistent with a conscientious law-abiding citizenry? Not at all. America will end up a country of cynics who despise and flout the law, play with it, sneak around it, the more expertly the more they learn about it, say, by going to law school, as shown recently by the DOJ and FBI lawyers shamelessly, arrogantly lying and defying the Congress, a degree of deviousness abhorrent and unthinkable to the Puritan founders of the nation.

The damage has been done, the US recording the world’s highest incarceration rate, 655 out of 100,000, which is 15 times Japan’s 45 and 6 times South Korea’s 109. The US murder rate is 5.35 per 100,000, which is 20 times Japan’s 0.28 and 8 times South Korea’s 0.7. Nor is the home safe from the inroads of fundamental duplicity mirroring the public mindset, the US divorce rate inching above 60%.

The only way to turn the tide is to take down all the speed signs and trust the individual driver’s good judgment by instituting a rigorous and thorough driver education regime prior to licensing, modeled after the fighter pilot training program. Considering the deadly consequences of mishandling an automobile, truly astonishing is the laxity with which driver licenses are handed out, seemingly in collusion with the auto industry lobby to maximize car ownership and operation. DMV should require each applicant to complete weeks or months of video assisted classes subject to tough graduation exams, followed by virtual road tests in all possible situations. Only then the applicant is taken out for an actual road test, thorough and rigorous enough to certify the right instincts and reflexes in all conceivable driving as well as parking scenarios. So licensed, the novice driver will be as good as a veteran and know not to slow down in a school zone, for example, when the school is closed and no children are around.

Only on freeways with no traffic controls physically, mechanically unsafe limits, say 100 MPH, may be enforced with electronic surveillance and automatic fining. On arrow straight roadways stretching from horizon to horizon in states like Utah 200 MPH may be considered, if auto technology supports it.

Overhaul of DOJ and Government Staffing: No Lawyers

On Jun 28, 2018, America watched in amazement Deputy Attorney General Rosenstein, currently the top law enforcement officer of the land next to Trump, thanks to Jeff Sessions, the dead man walking, fudge and dodge, refusing to answer the simple question asked by Rep. Gohmert, “Did you read the FISA application you signed?”

Understandably so, because he is caught between a rock and a hard place. To say yes is to admit that he is the ultimate villain who has unleashed the Spygate against Trump and the subsequent 2-year-long Russian collusion probe but to say no is admission of perjury for swearing to and signing an unread affidavit. Either way he goes to jail. How pitifully he wriggles, twists and turns like a worm, impaled by a hook, though one wouldn’t suspect it from his cocky smirk and demeanor.

But his first maneuver of evasion is rather stupid: he turns to FBI Director Wray seated to his right at the congressional witness table. Getting no help there and at the reminder by the impatient Congressman that the question is for him to answer Rosenstein says that he doesn’t need to read every FISA warrant he signs, that he merely need to understand what’s in it. To anyone who understands English that means, No, he hasn’t read it.

Gohmert expresses his surprise somewhat uncertainly, perhaps too shocked to believe what he has heard: “When you approve a FISA application, in your mind, does that mean you should read it and understand what’s part of it?” He should have said “you should read it,” period. If he must add anything, it would be: “and understand every part of it.” Instead, under the shock effect mentioned, he says “and understand what’s part of it”.

This is the opening he needs and Rosenstein jumps in with both feet: “You should certainly understand what’s part of it, sir.”
Belatedly realizing his error Gohmert orders Rosenstein not to “parse words” and tries to pin him down to his answer: “So, that doesn’t mean you need to read it, in your opinion – is that correct?” Actually, he intends to say, “So, that means you need not read it,” but the negative is shifted to the auxiliary verb, a frequent colloquialism. Perhaps encouraged by this grammatical slip Rosenstein unhesitatingly declares: “It depends on the circumstances.”

In exasperation Gohmert says: “Well, I am telling you, being a former felony state judge, if I had somebody like you come before me and now it was revealed later that the guy that signed and approved an application for a warrant had not even read the application that would allow spying on somebody, I would look at everything he signed from then on with a jaundiced eye.” And let that guy go on signing applications, whether looked at with a jaundiced eye or not, instead of throwing him in jail immediately?

Eventually we learn that as supervisor of over a hundred thousand employees he routinely signs off on thousands of documents all the time, apparently not reading but understanding it by telepathy, hearsay, or something and that only partially. How can Congress with its duty of oversight let these arrogant clowns occupy such high positions? Or is it the built-in impotence of Congress, as one may wonder watching the game Rosenstein is allowed to play with Congressional demand for documents? With a smug, taunting smile he says he has produced over a million. Irrelevant trash intended to head off and drown Congress, whereas only a fraction of what is really wanted has been served up, and that heavily “redacted”, that is, blacked out, speciously for national security’s sake. Baloney! Upon restoration, because there is technology for it, it is innocuous stuff, security-wise, but dynamite, destroying the integrity and credibility of Rosenstein and company.

Frustrated and disgusted, Rep. Gowdy tells Rosenstein to wrap up the whole Russia probe, which is tearing the nation apart. Indeed, it is a pity this tragicomedy is allowed to drag on. But there may be a silver lining. In the end Congress will get what it wants. Summoned to testify are the rank and file staffers of the DOJ ad FBI, some bound to blow the whistle on the collusion among the top dogs, Rosenstein, Wray, and others, all deeply involved in a vast corruption scheme, like coverup for Hillary’s uranium deal, and send the whole lot of them to jail.

Will the system remain clean and wholesome after their purge? Not if staffed with another crop of lawyers, professionally trained to fudge and dodge expertly like Rosenstein. Maybe it’s high time lawyers were barred from government employment, especially DOJ. Most legal work can be done by college freshman interns, thanks to the internet, video, and other devices. When necessary outside contractors can be consulted for a flat fee. We certainly don’t need lawyers in the upper echelons of government, to sign off without reading. See how America is getting great again with Trump at the helm rather than a career politician, that is, a lawyer. We need many more businessmen, engineers, builders, doctors, and other real-life experts in government, not politicians. The very idea of anyone making a career of government service should make us puke (see Manifesto of Radical Democracy, 5-25-2014, typakmusings.com).

Trump, the Eternal Juvenal

On Jun 28, 2018 in Mt Pleasant, WI, President Trump broke ground for the construction of a $10 billion Foxconn electronics manufacturing plant to produce half or more of all the electronic devices in use throughout the world. But this is the tip of the iceberg. Committed is the infusion of 10 times as much Foxconn capital to get the plant going, which would in turn trigger the influx of even more from all over. “The 8th Wonder of the World,” Trump rhapsodizes and so should the rest of America. The economy is really turning around and this is just the beginning.

But there is a typical Trumpian twist in handing out merit badges and honorable mentions. Complimenting Governor Scott Walker of Wisconsin, “a very talented person,” on “running 2,000 yards” with the ball passed to him, that is, paving the way to locate Foxconn in Mt Pleasant, he immediately regrets conceding so much to a potential adversary. “That comment will come back to haunt me,” he says, in all sincerity, and, continuing with the football analogy, adds that he hopes Scott won’t “run” against him.

Is this presidential, hanging out his juvenal combativeness, still stuck on his campaign trail, because he never saw beyond it and still can’t believe he is President because he isn’t, no matter the electoral verdict, a fraud and collusion, soon to be exposed and trashed, as his haters vow?

The answer is a resounding yes. He is paying a genuine, heart-felt compliment, every bit presidential, in the true sense of it (see Manifesto of Radical Democracy, 5-25-2014, typakmusings.com), neither truckling nor fawning. Donald elevates Scott to presidential candidacy capable of challenging him in 2020. Such is his esteem for contributions to the 8th Wonder of the World. But, acutely aware of the temporary tenure of his office at the pleasure and sufferance of his master, the people, he voices his opinion as an equal to Scott or anyone at all, not some superior being on his high horse handing out grades and medals. If that is juvenile, then so be it, the mind set we want of all our elected servants.

Let him tweet, speak off the cuff, putting his foot in his mouth now and then, and never grow up through his two terms, so etched indelibly on the psyche of every American, especially his successors and other office seekers, will be his basic humility.

Indolence of the Lion (Alpha Male): No Longer Defense for Slobs

There were days when husbands, nagged by their wives for being a slob, not picking up or cleaning up, doing the dishes, laundry, or other work around the house, could get away with it by playing an animal kingdom video: after lazing about, yawning and sleeping, while the lionesses pant and work a whole day to bring down prey, the lion saunters up lordly to the kill, driving them off, and gorges on the choicest part. No more, unless they risk direr consequences than nagging, like divorce.

The toil of housekeeping, coupled with child raising, is now widely appreciated with vocal demands for its elevation to a multi-level profession of expertise and skill to be certified and degreed. However dignified and ennobled, its hardship is bound to motivate women, whether highly educated and professionally trained or not, to get out of the house to find a job and make money to hire others to do the work, especially in times of full employment. But this exodus from home in turn creates shortage of labor willing to stay there and jacks up the wages. Gone are the days when one could get a babysitter for a song, maybe a meal or two and some change. Now $25 per hour is the going rate. Someone fresh off the boat with no schooling or English can hold out for a fully furnished HVAC room plus a substantial salary, say $3,000 a month as a live-in. Moreover anathema are job titles like “domestic help” or “au pair”: it is “domestic care provider” on the same level of respectability as lawyer, doctor, or engineer. As a result, unless the wife has a 7-digit or higher income, the job that enables her flight from home ends up barely paying the domestic hire at home, making no financial sense.

That’s why a slob can no longer cite the indolence of the lion as argument for his preferred lifestyle. He must either earn enough to afford a domestic provider or get off his butt and serve as one. Of course the logic is double edged and cuts both ways. Wives, if the traditional roles are reversed, you bringing home the bacon and your spouse staying home, treat your “house husband” with respect and pitch in.

A comment on the female leonine docility touched upon above. It’s mind boggling why the lionesses put up with the lion’s brutish conduct with no consideration for his female folk. Granted he is stronger than any one of them but, highly intelligent team players, they can easily gang up on him and tear him to pieces in no time, if they have a mind to. Instead, they slink away from their fruit of labor to return for the leftovers after his departure.

In obedience to some genetic code fashioned over millions of years of evolution? But evolution is supposed to promote the survival of the species. How does the pride benefit from the lion’s utterly selfish behavior? As a mighty defender against harm? The only threat he ever responds to seems the appearance of a stray male trying to muscle in for a piece of the harem. To secure his sexual security he fights off the intruder with life and death ferocity but the benefit to the pride or species is dubious: the intruder may have donated superior genes. From their growls and hisses of unmistakable though futile anger as they skulk off to let the lion feed, they clearly question the wisdom of their gender-wide deference to the brute but are unable to figure out the next step: coup d’etat. At least their human counterparts are not that dumb and would, given the same provocations, up and throw him over and run off to the first stranger that comes along in a heart beat, no matter he turns out just as brutish or worse.

True Globalism: A Review of The Polyglot: Union of Korea and Japan, amazon.com

Editor’s Note: The following review of The Polyglot: Union of Korea and Japan is copied from its Reader Column, amazon.com, by permission. The reviewer is Dr. Paul Sharar, 87, formerly on the NYU faculty and YMCA national director.

As a psychologist and YMCA director with broad experience with international groups I am delighted with Ty Pak’s novel, The Polyglot, for its combination of pertinent themes relevant to our world today, its salient and imaginative story line, its clearly drawn characters placed in a revealing history of an era he knows well and we all need to know better, and its focus on the many ways we communicate with one another with language-attitudes-tones-inflections-double meanings-misunderstandings all in a split second.
Dipping to the depths of depravity with clinical detachment and realism, the work soars to the heights of nobility, painted on a wide canvas, the whole globe, with characters ranging from the top rulers to the masses, a seemingly random sampling of them revealing a world of wonder, pathos, triumph, grandeur, especially as the ranks interact, showing how our lives are determined largely by luck and chance, the uncertainty binding us all and teaching us humility, understanding, forgiveness, love.
Early on there is a shocking and heart-breaking scene where Ina, 27, a brilliant surgeon, renounces maternity of her 2-year-old boy Peter as well as wifehood to her poet laureate husband, after coming all the way to Vladivostok from Japan occupied Korea to join him, only to find he has a second pregnant wife so committed to keeping him that she threatens with a pistol to Ina’s head to kill her and her son unless Ina renounces her marriage and gives her son to the second wife to raise with her soon to be born child, and never to make contact again.
This concession by Ina regarding Peter’s birth holds the key to the development of the story that takes place between 1919 and 1960 when Korea is forced to wake up to the modern age. The Stalin forced transport of Siberian Koreans to central Asia during which Peter is able to save many from death, China and Russia’s drive to make Korea communist, the US efforts to keep WW II outcomes in place, Japan’s economic revitalization all add to the evolving complexity of the story as Peter with an amazing gift for languages, speaking 16 with native fluency due to his forced trials, is pushed into many different leadership roles in these nations before, during and after the Korean War.
Then Peter’s identity is shattered, his old Soviet birth certificate turns out to be a fraud. Peter’s poet father assumed to have died in a Soviet gulag has been in the US, teaching literature at an American university, and is comatose with renal failure after contacting Peter. The kidney transplant campaign to save him leads to the discovery of Peter’s real parentage. His mother is Ina, as we have all known though hidden from him, but the DNA test for the kidney transplant shows his biological father is Japanese, not the patriotic Korean poet.
Hence the propriety of the eye-catching subtitle, Union of Korea and Japan, to this edition of The Polyglot. At first glance, given the history of the two countries, the idea seems an improbable fantasy. Not so with Peter, whose biology with Korean and Japanese parentage is an embodiment of this union. Nominated US Ambassador to South Korea but running into opposition from both Korea and Japan, who see him as 50% not like them, Peter calls on them to see him as 50% like them and to federate, especially in view of their common origins 10 millennia ago judging from the affinity of their two languages, as well as their close DNA. Nor is the federation proposed a ceremonial fellowship like the British Commonwealth but a functional polity like the USA.
Ty Pak gets us to think beyond regional geopolitical expedients and look once again at the possibilities for our global community to bring nations, languages, and cultures together. If Koreans and Japanese with their deep historical resentments will try, so might the rest of the world.

The Black White Cure for Racism

The influx into South Korea of thousands of black skinned but anatomically white, that is, Caucasian featured immigrants from India, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka may have solved the labor needs of its booming economy but, given its negrophobia and caucasophilia, creates an epistemological crisis (see Caucasian Mutation of Korean Faces, 4-4-2015, typakmusings.com): what to make of the contradiction, black white.

Ever resilient, however, they get over their bewilderment quickly enough by falling back on their instinct for survival: smile at those titled and affluent but scowl otherwise (see Mr. Khan, a Bangladeshi Single Father in Korea, typakusings.com).

In the process, however, they cannot help rethinking their former paradigm of racism, black at the bottom, white at the top, with themselves somewhere in between or outside. The lines are definitely blurring and areas overlapping to make the trichotomy practically meaningless. Every person must be judged on his or her own individual merits, regardless of color or anatomy.

But that’s abolition of racism called for by sensible people everywhere (The Polyglot: Union of Korea and Japan, amazon.com). So the Indian subcontinent that has sent its black white sons and daughters to South Korea is to be credited with initiating, if not completing, its liberation from the hell of racial prejudice. Perhaps the same kudos should go to the huge black-white swath from Morocco to the Middle East, home to the Moors, Libyans, Egyptians, Arabs, Iranians, Iraquis, Afghans, and so forth, for the relative racial tolerance among Europeans and Africans.

Should we therefore import the black-whites from India and its Middle Eastern and North African extension to make America racism free? Not so fast. The black whites themselves may be the fiercest racists that kill. Extreme vetting is necessary before admission. Moreover, they are already here in strength, as many as 7 million or 2% of the American population. South Korea did it with little over 10,000 or 0.02% of its population.

Candor about Age: Step One in the Anti-Privacy Movement

Liberation from obsession with privacy is the first priority for America’s survival from terrorism (see Privacy or Safety, 12-27-2013, and Scan Our Faces All You Want, 7-14-2017, typakmusings.com) but also for true civilization, predicated on socialization, getting to know neighbors, near and far, and becoming friends, on exposure and vulnerability by pulling down the multiple walls of privacy that cocoon Americans.

The Anti-Privacy Movement proposes demolition of the first wall, age: no more coyness about telling your age nor disdain for innocent inquiries by those from other cultures, East Asian in particular (see Quit Pussyfooting Around Your Age, 1-21-2018).

To go beyond passive endurance, however, urged is proactive use of age as a social ice breaker instead of the inane weather. Ask each other how old you are, talk about your years, events, highlights, celebrities, villains. You’ll soon be exchanging phone numbers, email addresses, and become friends forever, no matter your race, creed, or culture.

Quit Pussyfooting Around Your Age, America!

Watching the extravaganza of fireworks at midnight, Dec 31, 2017, livestreamed from all over the world, including North Korea, of all places, Americans may well rethink their political correctness or taboo about asking or telling one’s age. Those in the Sinosphere, namely, China, Japan, and Korea, accounting for more than a quarter of the world’s population, grow exactly one year older at the same time promptly after midnight, Dec 31, and freely ask and tell each other how old they have gotten.

That’s absurd, you may say, because it’s counting age by the year of birth, resulting in 365 people born on different days of the year having the same age. Not any more than 24 x 60 x 60 x (1 million microseconds or billion nanoseconds if you want to go that far) people born on the same day having the same age.

Of course even these Orientals have their own birthdays and celebrate them but strictly as a birthday, not as a turning point in age. If a date-based American-style age is required for the military draft, to determine adulthood, etc., they use the term “age” with a modifier “full”.

In any event East Asians have never had the kind of American shyness about age. Maybe counting by the year makes them more cosmically aware and dismissive of dissimulation, especially when it’s futile. The body trumpets it no matter how you disguise it. Let’s face it. One simply grows to maturity, is the master of the universe for a season, then wilts. This grim realization is tempered by respect for the elderly, the weak and unproductive, the quintessence of which is the Social Security Act. So your heart is in the right place, America. It’s just that darn fancy of yours, political correctness about age.

Winterize but Ventilate: Korean “Winter Pallor”

With temperatures dipping to single digits or below zero Fahrenheit in many parts of the country American homeowners bemoan their neglect to winterize, weather-strip, draft stop, staring at their higher heating bills. But don’t be too hard on yourself. You may be paying for better health.

Until the middle of the last century Koreans stayed indoors for months, battening down the hatches as soon as the winter laid siege, proud to emerge in the spring with their “white skin” restored. This was pre-Caucasophilia (see Caucasian Mutation of Korean Faces, 4-4-2015, typakmusings.com), before the country opened up in a hurry to the outside world with the avalanche of American troops, mostly Caucasian, during the Korean War (1950-53), and of Western technology, economy, and culture afterwards, which reinforced the traditional obsession with white skin, the emblem of aristocracy, freedom from manual labor under the scorching sun.

Of course they didn’t know any better about their wonderful winter-reclaimed pallor, an unmistakable symptom of incipient hypoxemia, low oxygen in blood, due to the poor indoor air quality, and paid for it with tuberculosis and other diseases, dying young.

Let’s not have that Korean “winter pallor” in enlightened America. Winterize by all means but ventilate by opening a window or two for a few minutes a day.

Anatomy of Prayer

Everybody prays. Nobody is too strong, too smart, too proud to pray. But, as we all know by experience, answers are slow in coming, if ever. This is why.

While you are praying for Outcome A (say, you get the Nobel Prize), there may be others who may secretly wish, a weak form of prayer, if not outwardly or expressly pray, that Outcome A never happens because they think you haven’t got what it takes or they simply hate your guts, as the case may be.

All seeing, all knowing, and omnipresent, God hears all these prayers, whispered or spoken, from everybody, including those sent up from the departed, whether dearly beloved or otherwise. In general, you can count on your ancestors rooting for you, though some may not have forgiven you for the mean things you’ve done to them while alive, but you can bet your bottom dollar that your enemy’s ancestors will be raising a hell of a chorus to defeat your suit.

Imagine a crowded court, much bigger than any on earth, but God the omniscient, a supercomputer, hears every testimony, weighs one against another and metes out his decision. So just keep praying fervently and you’ll hear from him, hopefully soon.

Hate Mongers: True Name for the Fake Media

On this Christmas Day of 2017, as we hear church bells ringing joy to the world for the lord of love has come, one cannot help being struck by the perversity of the fake media that reported the gathering of Christian leaders Trump addressed on Oct 13, 2017 as a hate group, because hate is the furthest thing from their minds, as they celebrate Christmas, calling it Christmas again thanks to Trump, unless love is hate by some arcane psychoanalytic reasoning.

No, there is no hint of that. Nor are they all that cerebral. They mean hate when they say hate. But what they call hate is in fact the opposite, love. It’s like calling white black. How can they do that?

Because somewhere along the line in their education their minds got distorted, most probably from their enlightened education, learning about other life styles, cultures, languages, and, yes, religions, without perspective. Just as those of my generation born in the 20’s and 30’s of Korea were fascinated with Marxism, so are these new intelligentsia with Islam and the Middle East. Let’s face it. To learn a language, say, Arabic, is to embrace its history, culture, and religion, jihadism in particular, whose Commandment #1 is: Hate the hate group, Christians, and their leaders, like Trump who wants to call Christmas Christmas instead of Holiday, which would have relativized Christianity and canonized Islam.

Lest the unwary and indifferent be misled and take at face value what the fakers report, we should call them by their correct name: hate mongers. Yes, they want to infect America with an epidemic of hatred, knowing that it will gut and destroy America from inside. This calling a love group bar none a hate group is a frontal attack strategy they have recently come up with. The lexical inversion is particularly effective because Christianity, that is, love, in one form or another, is all over America, and their defacement or distortion into hatred, its opposite, would be the shortest path to victory.

We know they pray fervently for our destruction, since their attempts at doing real damage have been thwarted promptly by Homeland Security, Trump led and inspired. Thank God their prayers are not heard. In fact, prayer in general is not meant to be heard. If it were, then life would be really messy. God is apparently not easily swayed and grants our prayers after much deliberation or never, which may frustrate some of us, even to the point of cursing and renouncing him forever, as it happened in South Korea when 299 high schoolers drowned in the sinking of the Sewol ferry on Apr 16, 2014 despite fervent prayers by Christians (see 4-27-2014 typakmusings.com). But resist the temptation and think of God, the omniscient, unequivocally saying no to the jihadist prayer for our annihilation.

E Duobus Unum: Love Among Siblings with Different (Mother or Father) Surnames

E duobus unum (one out of two) shall be the motto of Neo-Feminism, the movement to ensure maternal as well as paternal lineage. Just as e pluribus unum (one out of many) was chosen to bring the 13 colonies into one nation, the Neo-Feminist motto ushers in a new age, where true gender equality reigns, unleashing the tremendous potential of women suppressed heretofore to nurture humanity to greater heights of achievement and civilization.

The motto is designed to dispel any concern about division or discord in the nuclear family on account of different surnames. Children have no sense of alienation from their brothers or sisters on account of having different personal (first and/or middle) names and adding a second or third element to their identity won’t bother them. Moreover, if the millions from different continents and cultures can live together, enjoying the miracle that is the United States, surely two groups, consanguineous but with mother or father surnames, should certainly get along and be loving brothers and sisters.

E duobus unum is best illustrated by the two prime ministers of Japan: Nobusuke Kishi (1957-60) and Eisaku Sato (l964-72), both siblings with the same father and mother. Their different surnames are the result of Kishi’s adoption by the wealthy Kishi family, not by Neo-Feminism, but the brothers’ continued love and support throughout their lives proves the point of Neo-Feminism, highlighted by the following excerpt from The Polyglot (Amazon.com).

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Ike and Kishi stayed close together and mixed small talk with references to politics, both feeling totally at ease because of Peter’s unobtrusive but thoroughly reassuring translation. At one point Kishi beckoned to one of his companions and introduced him to Eisenhower.
“Meet Eisaku Sato, my Minister of Finance, who is also my brother.”
“It’s remarkable to have two brothers so prominent in government service. So who is the elder?”
“He is five years senior to me, Mr. President,” said Sato.
“But the real boss in our ruling Liberal Democratic Party,” Kishi added, “he defers to me because I am older but his buddies are impatient to put him in my place.”
Sato was to serve three terms as Prime Minister from l964 to 1972, the longest tenure as Prime Minister in Japanese history.
“It must be truly gratifying to work as partners in adult life, as well as being siblings in private life. I know the post of Minister of Finance is the most vital in the Japanese cabinet, in any cabinet, like the Treasury in the States and the Exchequer in Britain, Mr. Kishi.”
“I am Sato, Mr. President. We have different surnames.”
“Oh, you are half brothers with different fathers.”
“No, we have the same biological father as well as mother.”
“Is there something I have missed about Japanese culture? I thought the children took the father’s name there as here.”
Puzzled, Ike turned to Peter, forcing him out of his transparency as translating medium.
“They do in general, Mr. President, but in some rare cases they take the mother’s name, when there is no claimed father or more importantly when the father marries into the wife’s family on condition of adopting her family’s when its line might come to an end for lack of a male heir. But in every case the children would take one or the other, and not both to have different names from each other. Early on Prime Minister Kishi left his birth family because he was adopted by the affluent Kishi family.”
Sato, who had followed the English, smiled and said, in Japanese, “You seem well acquainted with our pedigree.”
“Your families are among the most preeminent in Japan.”
“As a Kishi my elder brother Nobusuke has been a lot of help to the Satos.”
“No, Eisaku did it all on his own, passing the senior civil service examination quite young and distinguishing himself in all the posts he was assigned to.”

***********************

It may be noted that Kishi happens to be the maternal grandfather of Shinzo Abe, Japan’s current Prime Minister (2006-7, 2012-present). Had the country known Neo-Feminism in the 50’s when Abe was born, he could very well be Shinzo Kishi now. Nobusuke might be turning in his grave with vexation at this lost opportunity for his lineage.

Americans Worship God, not Government: Korean Royal Laundry

CNN has done it again: immortalize Trump for coinage of an aphorism, Americans worship God, not government, bound to embed in the American psyche.
Who needs a friend when you have an enemy like CNN?

Unnoticed by most of us this priceless jewel, delivered a couple of months ago on Oct 13, 2017, at an annual gathering of Christian leaders, dubbed a “hate group” by fakers, would have sunk into oblivion. But CNN, the faker bar none, wouldn’t let it. In its relentless vendetta against Trump CNN has one of its harpies air the clip, cocksure that she would hogtie him once and for all as a Christian bigot. On the contrary, she has only energized and consolidated his base, the majority that has put him in office.

Moreover, by his decisive repudiation of government as an object of worship, he parts company with kings of old or some heads of state even today. Unspoiled by pomp and circumstance as President he has no illusions of his divinity (see Magna Carta 12-20-2013 and Radical Democracy 5-25-2014, typakmusings.com), nor would he tolerate, let alone encourage, servility, bowing and scraping, as if he were God, epitomized by Korean royal laundry. A Korean king routinely rewarded his loyal servants, prime ministers, generals, eulogists, as the case may be, with his soiled clothes, the awardee falling apart in gratitude. Donald would not dream of giving his laundry to Kelly, Mattis, or Hannity, nor would they appreciate the favor.

But in this regard they are exceeded by CNN and other fake media goons, who may spit at him (on pain of criminal prosecution for assault and battery), but not wear his laundry nor bow and scrape, thereby acting as disinfectant to keep a democracy from spoiling into an autocracy.

But no matter how contemptuous, they should keep their eyes open, because the penalty otherwise is suicidal. It is blindness that has driven them to bog the nation down in frivolous Russian investigation, tying up its resources, legislative, judicial, and administrative, and preventing their proper use to make America great again.

Gender Equality: No More 출가외인, Married and Dumped

This is another appeal for the equality of the sexes, that is, the elevation of women to the same status as that of men.

Men, abandon your built-in arrogance, your unconscious male chauvinism. It’s time you owned up to the gross injustice your race has done to women.

Women, where is your pride and passion for feminism, for gender equality? Rise up in indignation and wrath and seize your dignity, immortal identity.

The single most formidable obstacle to gender equality is patronymics or naming children after the father’s family name, either by law or by custom, the mother’s identity thereby lost forever. This lack of lineage is the single most powerful reason why sons are preferred everywhere and daughters considered a burden soon to be ejected, most shamelessly and brutally expressed in the pitiless Korean phrase, 출가외인, married and dumped, as if the daughter had never been.

We of Neo-Feminism propose to correct this injustice, not by abolition of patronymics, though that seems fair enough in view of accumulated injustice over the millennia, but by implementation of matronymics, so men and women have an equal chance to pass on their family names. In a few generations equality of lineage will result globally and women, now capable of lineal descent, will no longer be the inferior sex.

Neo-Feminism: Movement for Women’s Right to Keep and Pass On Their Family Names

For the sake of brevity Neo-Feminism is the name by which is to be known henceforth our Movement for Women’s Right to Keep and Pass On Their Family Names, launched on 11-11-2017, typakmusings.com.

In a recent meeting of Neo-Feminists the following resolutions have been adopted.

1. Neo-Feminism

This shall be the official title of the movement, subject to reconsideration.

2. Prospective Implementation

The proposed measures, retention of the wife’s maiden name and equal proration of parental names for children, are prospective and not retroactive, as the latter may be unduly disruptive. Neo-Feminists are conservatives, not revolutionaries, and espouse the spirit of the U.S. Constitution prohibiting ex post facto legislation (Article 1, Section 9, Clause 3).

3. Paranoia about Different Clans in the Same Family

There is the fear voiced by some that different surnames in the family may be divisive. But it is paranoia, dispelled upon reflection.

We are dealing with two names, father’s and mother’s, not a multiple. If duality is acceptable for parents, so it is for their offspring. If nothing else, it will be a tribute to the awesome mystery and beauty of sexual reproduction.

The children, given their different surnames at birth, will grow up, thinking nothing of it. The concern for divisiveness is the relic of the pre-Movement era, destined to disappear in one generation upon demise of the parents.

4. Agenda

As the Movement attains critical mass, it will have an office and staff to maintain the Register, contact the media, and organize awareness events, conferences, rallies, etc. Also at this point the Movement will apply for donations from organizations and individuals such as the Clinton Foundation, whose founders have only a daughter and the Obamas who also have only daughters.

5. Registration as a Non-Profit and Trademark

The Movement will be registered in New Jersey as a nonprofit along with its trademark, Neo-Feminism, and articles of incorporation. However, other states may be considered as its national and global base.

6. Subscription to Neo-Feminism

To join the Movement send in your name for inclusion in the Neo-Feminist Register, along with your affirmation of support and any particulars about yourself you care to share with the membership, such as your profession, family history, phone number, mailing address, etc. to typakmusings.com@gmail.com or dr.youngicklee@gmail.com. No dues or donation is solicited.

Movement for Women’s Right to Keep and Pass On Their Family Names

We call on all good people of the world to rise up and give their women true equality by letting them keep and pass on their family names to their children.

It is downright unfair and mean to deny them this right to lineage, to immortality, that men take for granted as they marry. It is in fact no less a crime than matricide (No More Matricide, 1-17-2014, typakmusings.com).

America is very much behind the Europeans in this all important effort to right the wrong humanity has been guilty of for thousands of millennia.

In 1978 the Council of Europe declared equality of rights in the transmission of family names. Likewise, in 1979, the United Nations adopted a Convention calling for gender equal rights to choose a “family name”. Similar measures were anticipated by Germany (1976) and adopted by Sweden (1982), Denmark (1983), Spain (1999), France (2005), and Italy (2014).

Gender equality in surnaming children is a moral and practical imperative worldwide as we go forward with civilization in the 3rd millennium. (1) It will end global preference for male lineal heirs, (2) prevent female feticide and infanticide, practiced on a massive scale in China, for example, under its one-child policy, and (3) stop overpopulation, as couples with daughters won’t keep having more children just to get a son.

For immediate implementation we therefore propose the following procedure:

1. First Child to Take the Mother’s Surname

This is only fair to make amends for humanity’s accumulated wrongs, unless the mother agrees otherwise.

2. Alternation among Subsequent Children

In other words, the 2nd child after the father, 3rd the mother, 4th the father, and so on.

In case of an odd number, the last one will be given either parent’s by drawing lots or by consent of the resulting minority parent.

3. Maiden Name After Marriage

Upon marriage a woman shall retain her surname and not change to her husband’s.

In particular there shall no longer be the monstrosity, hyphenation of both spouses’ surnames.

3.1. First, it is unequal, because the husband gets to keep his family name, smugly looking on his inferior partner’s contortions. On the off chance he adopts the hyphenation, he would probably insist on having his surname as the first element of the compound.

3.2. Secondly, the hyphenated form cannot be bequeathed to the children. In the unlikely event it is, the hyphenated child may marry another hyphenated child, whereupon we end up with multiple hyphenations.

All who agree with this cause to realize gender equality are invited to send in their names and other identifying information to typakmusings.com@gmail.com for inclusion in the national, nay, global register of membership in the Movement for Women’s Right to Keep and Pass On Their Family Names.

Goodbye to God

Gathered at our house in Norwood, NJ, on Sunday, Sep 24, 2017, is the whole tribe to celebrate the end of summer, though conspicuously absent and sorely missed are our oldest granddaughter now up at Brandeis as freshman and our other son and his family in Korea.

First to arrive is our nephew, unattached and eager to revisit the place where he has stayed his first summer on the East Coast, followed by our daughter, her husband, and twin daughters, exactly on time, 4:30 p.m. Not too soon for our son-in-law in charge of the first barbecue outdoors on the deck breaking in the brand new propane gas grill. He checks out the equipment and starts working on pans of marinated chicken and spare ribs of beef, while my wife adds the last-minute touches to the all organic salad bar.

Our daughter and her twin girls return from their workout at the tennis court to find that our youngest son, his wife, 21-month old daughter, and grandma haven’t arrived yet, a full hour past the start time, egregious even by his standards though he is stopping at a gourmet restaurant in Piermont to pick up some pasta dishes. Disappointed, because the girls have hoped to have their uncle join them at the tennis court, and heading for different bathrooms to wash up, they swear us to a pact to tell him henceforth to come one hour ahead of the real time.

Finally all accounted for and the barbecue completed, they surround the table and ask me to bless the food, catching me by surprise. I have had plenty of notice but procrastinated, thinking I would need only one hour to compose and memorize, but got distracted by little errands and emergencies.

“You do it,” I order my daughter. As a corporate lawyer she has the poise and gravitas and has emceed and moderated numerous gatherings but, above all, she has the real faith under my wife’s influence. “Be the chaplain for the occasion.”

“No, you should be it, Dad,” she refuses out of filial piety, Korean style. Even if she were the Pope herself, she would defer to me, thinking this wretched business a privilege rather than a burden.

“Just get it over with, Dad,” barks her husband, an experienced moderator having been a managing director at Goldman Sachs and chaired charities and nonprofits. But I cannot bounce the ball back to him. A son-in-law is not like your own son, not that the latter are any more tractable. Look at my youngest, who chooses to be an hour late. But to them I can shout an order, not expecting to be obeyed, but not to my son-in-law, with whom I must be on my best behavior at all times. The Korean saying goes: “Son-in-laws are guests forever.”

I am under tremendous pressure. Here are my two teenage granddaughters and one 21-month-old just learning to say a few words. I have to mind my manners, none of the heathen stuff I pull with my wife. It’s not that I am an atheist. I am not that brave. When something close to my heart is at stake like health or work of myself or my children and grandchildren, I am begging abjectly on my knees for God to help. It’s just that I know too much, growing up in Korea going to the temple, burning incense and bowing down to the statue of a fat Oriental buddha sitting with his legs crossed and folded. Simultaneously and more persistently we went to our ancestral tombs on New Year’s, Jan 1, or on Autumn Eve, Aug 15, by the lunar calendar. Also I had Christianity from my father who went to an American missionary school in Japan and my mother, a born again Christian. Then I married a pastor’s daughter who married me to save my soul. Living in the States I have of course learned about Hinduism and Islam with its Jihadist agenda and many others throughout the globe, each sacred for the believer but inane or downright insane to the outsider.

I plunge in and zip through, “Thank you, Lord, for bringing us all together on this last Sunday of the summer. Bless the hands that have prepared the food. Also bless our work, our studies, our projects and plans. Let us all eat heartily and have fun. Goodbye!”

The gale of laughter subsides with my son-in-law’s authoritative comment, “You’ve been doing this for years and are getting worse.”

“Goodbye?” my wife shakes her head in disgust. “What happened to Amen, your usual hurried ending, if not the proper one, In the name of my savior Jesus Christ?”

“I don’t know,” I blush and stammer, genuinely befuddled, because Goodbye has never been part of the inventory before.

“Every night I have corrected him for the last 40 years,” she continues. “Even a dog at a temple learns to chant the sutras after three years but not your Dad.”

Yes, she makes me pray every night before going to bed, which is not hard, as I get to pray for my children and grandchildren, but my hasty Amen must be followed up each time with the correction, “In the name of my savior Jesus Christ.”

“Give him a break,” comes my daughter to my rescue. “He was having a tete-a-tete with God and bidding goodbye when done.”

“That’s it,” I grab at the lifeline. “I am so into it, because I am talking straight from the heart to God. That’s how prayer should end, with plain Goodbye and no denominational, sectarian, or other signature.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” my wife warns ominously, rushing off as the oven alarm goes off for the heated pasta.

The Axiom of Reciprocity

A 79-year-old Korean American resident of New Jersey writes to his 34-year-old nephew, his younger sister’s son, from California, who has stayed the whole summer of 2017 at his house, attending community college.

Aug 23, 2017

Dear Tom,

Congratulations on your excellent grades for all the intensive summer courses. Determined as you are to make up for the years lost you’ll keep up the momentum to complete BA and post-graduate degrees and pursue a professional career.

You are also to be commended for saving enough money in a few weeks, working part time, to finance a trip home over the Labor Day holiday, proof that you are a capable adult who need not depend on the charity of your relatives or friends. Dependence is despicable, because it violates the fundamental principle of life, reciprocity. That’s why I have told everybody that you were staying with us only for a short visit.

The time has come for us to end that visit as it has become untenable. We have been avoiding each other, a relatively easy proposition because your semi-basement suite is accessible through the garage without intruding on us. For meals, however, you have to come upstairs to the kitchen on the first level, making sure I am not there eating. But occasional brushes are inevitable and I beat a hasty retreat to my study grabbing whatever containers of food at hand to give you free rein. Obviously, we can’t go on like this.

In hindsight we shouldn’t have embarked on our communal experiment. Your Mom sounded upbeat, telling me that she and your father were finally closing on the sale of their Japanese restaurant in San Francisco, and I thought they must have cleared a million bucks at least. In the next breath, however, she said their net was zero after paying off accumulated debts, including the 10-year-old debt of some $50,000 to Brenda, my daughter. Penniless, they were moving in with your brother Frank and his wife Liz, both doctors in Los Angeles, to be their infant son’s full time babysitters. But when asked about you, she said matter-of-factly that you would be left where you were to fend for yourself, Frank’s two-bedroom apartment being overcrowded as it was. All I had heard about you was that you had dropped out of college after falling into bad company and got addicted to drugs but had miraculously kicked the habit and worked as sushi chef at your parents’ and other restaurants.

I don’t know whether it was your Mom misleading me, knowing how I always felt about her (I was 12 and she 1, when our father died in October 1950 during the Korean war) or me overreacting and misreading the signals. It just tore me up to hear her ending up with nothing after working her butt off for 20 years and going off to live in Los Angles leaving you behind, evocative of black family members being sold off to different owners in the olden days. Of course the analogy is all wrong because there was no such tragedy afoot. You had been on your own and not living with your parents for quite some time. Also your parents are parents, not live-in servants, to Frank and Liz, who were buying a multi-bedroom house to accommodate them. But the imagery of slavery stuck and compelled me to step in as the magnanimous uncle to keep the family together. I gave your Mom enough money for all three of you to come over for a visit to my house in New Jersey after the sale closed. In addition, I told her you could stay with us, if you so chose. Obsessed by the urgency to prevent the crisis of family breakup, I had given little or no thought to post-crisis management, except some vague notion that the arrangement might turn out mutually beneficial over the long haul. You could get a good job as a sushi chef and bring home left over sashimi, or help with house cleaning, maintenance, or remodeling. We might even go into business together, buying old houses and remodeling, then selling for profit. In other words, I hoped for some monetary or other return for your room and board, worth at least $3,000 a month, the sum offered by a Korean family wanting us to take in their high school child. Naturally I was miffed, when you came enrolled in community college, so you could go on to be a doctor like Frank this late in your life. Not only was there to be no big payoff from your live-in labor but, unbeknownst to me, I was inextricably committed to making huge scholarship payments, a suspicion confirmed soon enough.

Preoccupied with job hunting and school work you couldn’t spare any of yourself for us but even if you had all the time in the world you wouldn’t have bothered. A born slob you don’t even clean your suite, let alone the rest of the house. I hinted at thinking out of the box and going into construction, rather than following the academic routine, and you dismissed it out of hand. With a visceral aversion to manual labor in general you refused to continue as a chef and opted for salesmanship at a department store though I couldn’t see much difference.

Your careless wastefulness got on my nerves. There was plenty of natural light but you turned on all the lights and wouldn’t turn them off when leaving the house. Despite numerous reminders you flipped the wrong switch and turned on the outdoor lights. It’s a wonder our Samsung washer and dryer are still holding up after such abuse from all your laundry, not only your daily quota of sweat-drenched clothes explained below but what you had brought over from San Francisco, including blankets, mats, tennis shoes. Then there was your gargantuan appetite, about five times mine. We had no choice but to refuse supporting your no carb “royal diet,” a typical meal consisting of a couple of pounds of animal protein mixed in a 12-inch diameter metal bowl, for no ordinary plate would serve the purpose, with spinach, kimchee, dwenjang stew, red pepper sauce, etc. (but no rice or noodle we plebeians eat), and you started buying pork, steak, and chicken, but not the other Korean dishes, doubling, tripling Auntie’s visits to the Korean supermarket and delis with their toll on her colitis. Since you started cooking, the paper towel on the two holders had to be replaced in a matter of days, not weeks, and the dish washing liquid refilled three times quicker, not to mention the torrents of water, always hot, splashed and wasted, not metered to trickles, always cold, as before.

To seal the leak in your shower door I needed the stall to be dry and told you to shower upstairs or, better still, at the 24-hour fitness center where you went every day without fail, which would incidentally shrink our water and gas bill big time because you showered prodigiously. I was astounded by your flat refusal, though it made absolutely no sense not to wash off all the sweat worked up and let it soil the clothes. I saw it only as some kind of malice to go on wasting my gas and water but the reason given was inconvenience of carrying in all your stuff. What stuff other than a towel and soap, unless you were a woman? You were to shower at the gym but your shower was wet when checked a few days later. Your excuse this time was that one’s shower was private and not to be shared with others. But, then, what about dorms, military bases, YMCA’s, public baths, club houses? You countered that the gym showers were dirty. On the contrary, they were cleaned daily, unlike yours you never had cleaned, I pointed out. You then said you hated seeing naked men, their dongs swinging. But why should that bother you when you had one, too? Telling you how I had showered at a gym every day and enjoyed it enormously because I didn’t have to clean or maintain when I lived a whole year in an office as my family had moved to New York ahead of me, I repeated the decree to stop showering at home, only to be ignored.

The tensions mounting between us came to a head on June 19, 2017, my birthday as it happens, a couple of weeks after your parents’ return to California. No sooner had we all sat down to eat than I had to leave the table to service a business call in the study. When I returned about five minutes later, you were polishing off your royal diet in the metal bowl. Then I noticed the empty dish that had about 2 pounds of stir-fried beef with onion, mushroom, and Chinese cabbage, Auntie’s specialty, apparently all tossed into the gigantic bowl and dispatched. Auntie was back in the kitchen cleaning up and putting away. I said you could have saved some of the stir-fried out of common decency and you flew off the handle. Jumping up from the table, you swore you wouldn’t eat my food. We shouted at each other, calling names, and I was ordering you to get out instantly. Auntie intervened, pushed me upstairs, and, pointing out you didn’t have enough money to rent as you had just started working, told me to give you at least until the end of the summer session.

That was the deadline announced upon my smelling cigarette odor as you entered the house on the first day: either you had to quit smoking by the end of the summer session or had to find alternative housing, because I couldn’t abide smokers, period. You laughed and said you would try. I reiterated the seriousness of the deadline now and then but each time you waved it off as if it were a big joke. You were opening and closing your garage door several times at night, the grinding of the motor audible upstairs, so you could go out and smoke. You would have left it open all night, had I not objected lest rodents should stampede in from the surrounding woods. Instead I urged you to take the simple solution of quitting altogether. You laughed it off. Once I put on your hood a mug found outside the garage door with a cigarette butt stubbed out in dried coffee. No response. Next I resorted to a similar display of cigarette butts collected from the front yard. This time you reacted with denial: they were not even your brand, a lie because nobody came around to our gated community to litter like that. Later you told Auntie that you were smoking away from the house, as if that were a big concession.

Suppressing my chagrin, because I had not yelled so loud at another human being, I have waited until now when your summer classes ended. Look for a new place to move out to when you return from California. Search online. I told you about my year-long stay in an office for around $200, utilities included, where I could keep a refrigerator and cook, though I had to shower at a 24-hour fitness gym, a point of honor for which you see fit to defy me, but when push comes to shove I am sure you are flexible and resilient enough to adjust. Likewise with smoking. If necessary, when you find a good place to stay, except for the iron rule excluding smokers from the community, I am sure you’ll adjust and quit. Moreover, you may soon find all this talk about cheap rent irrelevant. I hear Frank has a business partner in Fort Lee who is going to hire you at a much better salary than at your present job.

Even living away from us, you will always be invited to our family gatherings, as you have been, but don’t think you are doing us a favor by coming and spreading your charm. They cost but we want to include you. Likewise your cousins go out of their way to help you, as Brenda did with your school work, though she is a full time executive. I am glad to see this affection among you but, bearing in mind that axiom, reciprocity, remember to do to those as you have been done to by them. Ingratitude is a vile thing and takers or users are beyond the pale.

Your Uncle

Blame for North Korean Nukes

For a perspective on which US President is most to blame for appeasement with North Korea bringing about its nuclear power status consider the following graffiti on the tombstone of President Daejung Kim (1998-2003) of South Korea:

시발 놈아 북핵 개발
네 놈이 책임 져라.
개 새끼 김 대중 대통령 묘소

Fucker, North Korea’s nuclear development
Is on your head.
Son of a bitch President Daejung Kim’s tomb.

The superscription completely buries the original 8-lettet inscription, “김 대중 대통령 묘소,” President Daejung Kim’s tomb

Amazingly many South Koreans are applauding this posthumous defacement, alleging that Kim, sometimes referred to as the Nelson Mandela of Asia, paid North Korea to arrange a summit meeting between its head and himself, for which he got the Nobel Peace Prize in 2000. The amount paid is variously estimated at half a billion to 4 billion dollars, equaling or exceeding what the US is said to have paid so far as bribes to that rogue regime.

So in the perception of these South Koreans their one president eclipses all his American counterparts put together in the blame game for enabling North Korea’s nuclear capability. It doesn’t seem to be nationalistic pride to be head of a pack, no matter what. Simply, they are focused only on Daejung and no outsiders, as if they haven’t heard of the controversy raging in the US. So he hogs the credit? But it would be such an anomaly because in other ways they are supersensitive to American goings on. The graffiti, perhaps a more effective means of destruction than excavation of the tombstone or exhumation, may well have been suggested by statue demolitions now in fashion here.

Immigrants as Storm Troopers for the American Cultural Revolution

Immigrants, foreign born but here to stay learning ESL (English as a Second Language) and putting down roots for their American dynasties, may be counted on as storm troopers for the Cultural Revolution unleashed by Donald’s campaign against political correctness regarding taboo words for sex and race (see Donald, Champion of Incorrectness, 9-11-2015, typakmusings.com).

With no gut-level sensitivity to these words, if at all, they have watched with disbelief the havoc a mere whisper of them can wreak on the destiny of this country, like when America went bonkers and fed Donald to the wolves for mentioning “pussy” with his male buddies. Few immigrants come across the word. Certainly not in their ESL primers. Nor in dealings with native speakers who suddenly become language conscious with foreign learners like an adult minding his manners with kids.

Then there are the blips “f…” or “f…ing,” which perplex them even more. What in the Sam Hill is that? The deprecatory, hesitant, ill-at-ease explanation makes matters worse. How can Americans be so irrational? No amount of blipping nor substitution with different nouns would alter what God has ordained between the sexes. A rose by any other name is still a rose.

They are equally astonished and put off by similar blipping, “N…,” “G…,” “C…,” “J…,” or use of euphemisms. A toilet will always be unpleasant unless properly maintained whether you call it lavatory, bathroom, restroom, or powder room. Likewise with other epithets reflecting cultural or religious prejudices.

That is why the narrator of Dear Daughter, Amazon.com, a Korean American professor turned pastor, names his church Gook Nigger Church to trivialize and implode the taboo words that cocoon entrenched racism in America. Similarly motivated is the launch of PCCNSC on Nov 8, 2016 (see Pussy-Cock Chink-Nigger Shouting Club, 11-9-2017, typakmusings.com) to eradicate latent racism and false modesty. The insensitivity of immigrants to the niceties of English may well provide the driving force for the Cultural Revolution and emancipate America from its hang-ups, politically correct chains and shackles.

President Trump’s Mental Competency

Grasping at straws after dead-ending with their Russian collusion delusion the destroy-Trump storm troopers are now talking about having Trump declared mentally incompetent by a court, perhaps thinking it’s easier than impeachment, daunting even in their own estimation with perhaps a snowball’s chance in hell.

When will they give up? When will the fake media stop encouraging the fishing expeditions of these fanatics, dividing the nation, tying up and wasting legislative and judicial resources which should be deployed elsewhere in the cause of making America great again?

They won’t quit. Incurably crippled by the Losing-It Syndrome that distorts their vision to see him as unfit, “un-presidential,” they’ll press on with their crusade to unseat him (see The Losing-It Syndrome, 8-18-2017, typakmusings.com).

So we’ll just have to meet them on their terms and tell them straight out that their motion for an incompetency hearing won’t get off the ground. Simply, they have doomed their own cause by alleging that he is unstable and erratic in his tweets, firing and hiring of personnel, executive orders about sexual orientation in the military, policy statements, rally speeches, everything he has done in office which unequivocally disqualifies him for the job. But by that very allegation, ipso facto, they have doomed their cause: these blemishes, all job related, make him immune to litigation or prosecution according to the 1997 Supreme Court ruling in Clinton vs. Jones.

So they’ll have to allege his incompetency with respect to his personal affairs but he has already insulated himself from all his property and business affairs. No court will entertain a motion for an incompetency hearing or any motion at all for no purpose, which is called frivolous, unless they suborn that court. But then they’ll hear no end of it from Donald’s lawyers, who’ll take them all the way to the Supreme Court.

Will they listen and quit? No, they’ll say the notoriety, the nuisance value, is worth it and will press on, come hell or high water. In the meantime the country goes down the tube, the ultimate loser.

An Apology to Paul Ryan from a Victim of CNN Fakery

My sincerest apologies to Speaker Paul Ryan for calling him literal-minded (see CNN Fakery, 8-25-2017, typakmusings.com) and misquoting him as having said that “The government cannot shut down” in refutation of President Trump’s emphasis on the importance of the southern US wall. Subsequently I happened to see a Fox News clip showing the press interview where he supposedly voiced this “opposition” to Donald, another sure sign of the Republican Party breaking apart, and realized that I had been screwed by CNN fakery I was warning others about.

The Fox video showed the CNN reporter asking Paul what he thought of Donald shutting down the government unless he had his way with the Trump Wall. Graciously Paul answered, humoring the reporter, that “the Government need not shut down.”

So it had been CNN all along that knowingly and deliberately twisted Donald’s figure of speech into a literal absurdity and baited Paul to say something that could be blown up into a mutiny in the Republican ranks, in the meantime poisoning the American public mind, and I had fallen for it. What choice did I have? I couldn’t be watching all the channels or survey the whole internet to check out everything. Beware, America, of CNN and other fake media. Just click YouTube and go to Fox.