Thus says the Lord: "Let not the wise man boast in his wisdom, let not the mighty man boast in his might, let not the rich man boast in his riches, but let him who boasts boast in this, that he understands and knows me, that I am the Lord who practices steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth. For in these things I delight, declares the Lord."
"Behold, the days are coming, declares the Lord, when I will punish all those who are circumcised merely in the flesh... for all these nations are uncircumcised, and all the house of Israel are uncircumcised in heart."
I know, O Lord, that the way of man is not in himself, that it is not in man who walks to direct his steps. Correct me, O Lord, but in justice; not in your anger, lest you bring me to nothing.
- from Jeremiah 9 and 10
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
I'm... I'm a banana!
Pablo Picasso once said that all children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up. Jim Henson most definitely remained an artist since childhood.
My favorite sketch of the movie we watched today,
The Muppets Go to the Movies:
The Muppets Go to the Movies:
Hahaha ;)
Oh, Kermit.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
One Thing.
One thing have I asked of the Lord,
that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to inquire in his temple.
-Psalm 27:4
that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to inquire in his temple.
-Psalm 27:4
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Story Bug.
I keep on telling my roommate that I want to write a story. If I were her, I would be annoyed by now. ;)
I grew up creating stories and drawing them out (an invention of my sister, whom I frequently copied). Much like sketching comic book-/manga-style. But I was too lazy to draw and write in any speech bubbles, so I ended up talking out loud as if I were the characters, carrying on entire conversations between characters, with a British accent, Korean accent, squeeky voice, manly voice and all. My parents thought I was weird (and probably crazy), but they supported me by donating their daily/weekly share of recycled paper -- usually a stack of unusable church programs.
I don't remember the exact time I grew out of it, but I knew I was still drawing and talking to myself well into high school. It was probably my freshmen year in college when I realized I had a stranger for a roommate rather than a sister. Slowly, I restrained my crazy self, tried to act normal, and eventually withdrew. I think I stopped drawing altogether towards the middle of college.
In any case, my current state of joblessness has created stress and discouragement, but it has also opened up doors of opportunities for which I am grateful. I am taking a music class every week and am getting back to practicing the piano/keyboard, something I wasn't able to do while I was abroad or attended graduate school. I am able to cook more regularly; I have the leisure to learn new recipes and be more adventurous with old ones. I am also able to read for leisure. So many books I wanted to read and re-read, but never the time in the past because of the guilt (i.e. why read Harry Potter when I have all of these journal articles to read for school?) I recently finished, in a matter of hours, the Hunger Games and was able to skim through both sequels. Though the series wasn't as satisfying as I had hoped it to be, the leisure of reading these books gave me a full sense of satisfaction.
Above all else, though, I am able to think, create, and dream. I go back to my childhood crazy/weird mode and start to conjure up stories. They're usually brushed-up versions of older ones from years ago. Sadly though, I find that I am not as creative as I used to be. I run out of ideas quickly, and I stop simply because I get tired of thinking. I don't draw out my characters, action sequences, or scenery anymore, but I try to write. It's much more difficult because I am lazy (gah, I should've written in those speech bubbles!) and because I am naturally not a creative writer or thinker. But I wish to be. I hope to acquire, if acquirable, at least a little bit of that brilliance and genius of describing, portraying, expressing.
In an attempt to improve my writing, I googled, "How to write a story." Unfortunately, a lot the links weren't insightful, so I googled instead, "How to publish a story" and found this link: "How to get a book published in 10 not-so-easy steps." This is what Step 1 said:
Very sound advice. But not so easy, indeed. It'll take me years, a lifetime, to get past Step 1! Reading Twilight and Hunger Games simply won't do.
Well, I have to start somewhere, right? Besides, I told my roommate that I would buy her a car if I write a story, publish it, become famous, and make lots of money.
All right. Off to reading, then.
Until next time!
I grew up creating stories and drawing them out (an invention of my sister, whom I frequently copied). Much like sketching comic book-/manga-style. But I was too lazy to draw and write in any speech bubbles, so I ended up talking out loud as if I were the characters, carrying on entire conversations between characters, with a British accent, Korean accent, squeeky voice, manly voice and all. My parents thought I was weird (and probably crazy), but they supported me by donating their daily/weekly share of recycled paper -- usually a stack of unusable church programs.
I don't remember the exact time I grew out of it, but I knew I was still drawing and talking to myself well into high school. It was probably my freshmen year in college when I realized I had a stranger for a roommate rather than a sister. Slowly, I restrained my crazy self, tried to act normal, and eventually withdrew. I think I stopped drawing altogether towards the middle of college.
In any case, my current state of joblessness has created stress and discouragement, but it has also opened up doors of opportunities for which I am grateful. I am taking a music class every week and am getting back to practicing the piano/keyboard, something I wasn't able to do while I was abroad or attended graduate school. I am able to cook more regularly; I have the leisure to learn new recipes and be more adventurous with old ones. I am also able to read for leisure. So many books I wanted to read and re-read, but never the time in the past because of the guilt (i.e. why read Harry Potter when I have all of these journal articles to read for school?) I recently finished, in a matter of hours, the Hunger Games and was able to skim through both sequels. Though the series wasn't as satisfying as I had hoped it to be, the leisure of reading these books gave me a full sense of satisfaction.
Above all else, though, I am able to think, create, and dream. I go back to my childhood crazy/weird mode and start to conjure up stories. They're usually brushed-up versions of older ones from years ago. Sadly though, I find that I am not as creative as I used to be. I run out of ideas quickly, and I stop simply because I get tired of thinking. I don't draw out my characters, action sequences, or scenery anymore, but I try to write. It's much more difficult because I am lazy (gah, I should've written in those speech bubbles!) and because I am naturally not a creative writer or thinker. But I wish to be. I hope to acquire, if acquirable, at least a little bit of that brilliance and genius of describing, portraying, expressing.
In an attempt to improve my writing, I googled, "How to write a story." Unfortunately, a lot the links weren't insightful, so I googled instead, "How to publish a story" and found this link: "How to get a book published in 10 not-so-easy steps." This is what Step 1 said:
1. Read
You're not going to be a good writer without doing some serious reading (by which I don't necessarily mean reading serious books).
What should you read? Of course you should read contemporary writing, especially in areas relevant to your aspirations. But to read only contemporary writing risks making your work thin and ephemeral. You should also read the classics, works from other cultures and times. Include some poetry. Read some work in foreign languages — how can you understand English if you have nothing to compare it to?
Read widely. Read a lot. If you're writing fiction read some nonfiction. If you're writing nonfiction read some fiction.
Read ink on paper, not just electrons.
Oh, and by the way: reread. Rereading is the key to understanding how books work.
Very sound advice. But not so easy, indeed. It'll take me years, a lifetime, to get past Step 1! Reading Twilight and Hunger Games simply won't do.
Well, I have to start somewhere, right? Besides, I told my roommate that I would buy her a car if I write a story, publish it, become famous, and make lots of money.
All right. Off to reading, then.
Until next time!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Plan of making plans.
It's funny. I feel that I can't start making plans without a planner. So while I wait for my planner to arrive in my mailbox, I dream. I dream of making plans.
Friday, February 3, 2012
A Perfect New York Moment.
Long story short,
I am a really, really awkward person. It takes me a good month of constant, 24/7 contact for new acquaintances to turn into friends or at least potential friends. Meeting new people, especially in large groups (or even small groups, at first), are always a bit uncomfortable for me. I blame it on my lack of talent to make small talk. Or maybe it's my dislike of small talk. This is becoming a long story.
Anyway, my point is,
I am a really, really awkward person. And yesterday (Wednesday), I was no different. It didn't help that I was awkward, and it didn't help that he was famous. It also didn't help that I was star-struck, and it also didn't help that he had no time.
Just as I got off of the 1 train near the Lincoln Center, there he was. Itzhak Perlman! I noticed a grey/white-haired man with glasses on an electric wheelchair only a block in front of me about to cross my path, and I knew exactly who he was. Grey/white hair. Glasses. Wheelchair. Lincoln Center. Of course it was him! But I was too awe-struck. I'm pretty sure my mouth was agape as I stood there like a fool, in the same position for a good minute or two. He just whizzed by me. But we had a weird moment. I can still see it in slow-motion: my head rotating as his head rotated towards mine. He stared up at me from his wheelchair with a reserved and almost shy expression on his face, and I just stared back at him with my mouth wide open. He just continued up Broadway as I made a full swing to look back. Where was he going? Why wasn't anybody stopping him? Should I run after him and start a conversation with him? Why didn't I bring my camera? I didn't do anything but stare, dangit. Why am I so awkward.
I don't think I would've been so star-struck if he were any other "celebrity" figure. It might not be exciting to other people, or what the heck, I don't even play the violin. But I was giddy, ecstatic, and stupidly frozen, all in one moment and position.
It's interesting -- I like great modern/contemporary musicians, but I Love great classical musicians. I have an utmost respect and admiration for classical musicians, especially someone like Perlman. (Seriously, I wanted to call after him -- "Itzhak! Itzhak!!") My deep fan-dom probably stems from a mixture of admiration for their God-given talent, respect for their hard work, and envy of their realization of their dream. And to see one of them on a street on a casual evening when I'm used to seeing them on Youtube (because I can't even afford concert tickets!). Okay, I'll calm down.
The fact is, I wanted to be one of them, and I think I still do. I yearn for it. There are few things that deeply move me more than the music created, the beauty of it, the beauty from it. Many people around me may say and have said that it was and still is a stupid dream. It's something that I've always fought for and never fully realized or received. Sometimes, I really do want to throw in the towel, quit my "career" in the health sciences, and just play the piano and apply to a music school. But realistically, it is nearly impossible to be "one of them" at this point in my life. And so there's always that sense of regret. There's always that sense of yearning.
Lord, when I go to heaven, I definitely want to be on the praise team. With Bach. And the angels, of course. Kind of ridiculous, and I'm most probably not qualified. But can I?
What an exciting thought ;)
****
On another note,
Why Didn't anyone stop him???
Maybe I'm just an annoying fan. But this reminds me of an interesting social experiment in Washington, D.C. not too long ago involving Joshua Bell. Read about it here.
Full audio of performance here.
I am a really, really awkward person. It takes me a good month of constant, 24/7 contact for new acquaintances to turn into friends or at least potential friends. Meeting new people, especially in large groups (or even small groups, at first), are always a bit uncomfortable for me. I blame it on my lack of talent to make small talk. Or maybe it's my dislike of small talk. This is becoming a long story.
Anyway, my point is,
I am a really, really awkward person. And yesterday (Wednesday), I was no different. It didn't help that I was awkward, and it didn't help that he was famous. It also didn't help that I was star-struck, and it also didn't help that he had no time.
Just as I got off of the 1 train near the Lincoln Center, there he was. Itzhak Perlman! I noticed a grey/white-haired man with glasses on an electric wheelchair only a block in front of me about to cross my path, and I knew exactly who he was. Grey/white hair. Glasses. Wheelchair. Lincoln Center. Of course it was him! But I was too awe-struck. I'm pretty sure my mouth was agape as I stood there like a fool, in the same position for a good minute or two. He just whizzed by me. But we had a weird moment. I can still see it in slow-motion: my head rotating as his head rotated towards mine. He stared up at me from his wheelchair with a reserved and almost shy expression on his face, and I just stared back at him with my mouth wide open. He just continued up Broadway as I made a full swing to look back. Where was he going? Why wasn't anybody stopping him? Should I run after him and start a conversation with him? Why didn't I bring my camera? I didn't do anything but stare, dangit. Why am I so awkward.
I don't think I would've been so star-struck if he were any other "celebrity" figure. It might not be exciting to other people, or what the heck, I don't even play the violin. But I was giddy, ecstatic, and stupidly frozen, all in one moment and position.
It's interesting -- I like great modern/contemporary musicians, but I Love great classical musicians. I have an utmost respect and admiration for classical musicians, especially someone like Perlman. (Seriously, I wanted to call after him -- "Itzhak! Itzhak!!") My deep fan-dom probably stems from a mixture of admiration for their God-given talent, respect for their hard work, and envy of their realization of their dream. And to see one of them on a street on a casual evening when I'm used to seeing them on Youtube (because I can't even afford concert tickets!). Okay, I'll calm down.
The fact is, I wanted to be one of them, and I think I still do. I yearn for it. There are few things that deeply move me more than the music created, the beauty of it, the beauty from it. Many people around me may say and have said that it was and still is a stupid dream. It's something that I've always fought for and never fully realized or received. Sometimes, I really do want to throw in the towel, quit my "career" in the health sciences, and just play the piano and apply to a music school. But realistically, it is nearly impossible to be "one of them" at this point in my life. And so there's always that sense of regret. There's always that sense of yearning.
Lord, when I go to heaven, I definitely want to be on the praise team. With Bach. And the angels, of course. Kind of ridiculous, and I'm most probably not qualified. But can I?
What an exciting thought ;)
****
On another note,
Why Didn't anyone stop him???
Maybe I'm just an annoying fan. But this reminds me of an interesting social experiment in Washington, D.C. not too long ago involving Joshua Bell. Read about it here.
Full audio of performance here.
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