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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQDSX46fip7ImA9WhRRFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969</id><updated>2011-11-27T18:26:18.016-05:00</updated><category term="humour" /><category term="introspection" /><category term="ideals" /><category term="contemplation" /><title>Introspection + Contemplation + Ideals</title><subtitle type="html">But I'll try to be funny sometimes, so stay a while</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>19</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals" /><feedburner:info uri="introspectioncontemplationideals" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><link rel="license" type="text/html" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/" /><logo>http://creativecommons.org/images/public/somerights20.gif</logo><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkQBQHY4cSp7ImA9WxVWFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-6718304710827622591</id><published>2009-02-23T01:33:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-23T18:05:51.839-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-02-23T18:05:51.839-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humour" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="contemplation" /><title>Laptops, Algorithms and Commitment</title><content type="html">&lt;div&gt;We live in time and space; a choice is made at a point in time and we live with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I need to replace a broken laptop.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'm seriously afraid of buyer’s remorse. You can’t rush in to it and I don’t want to spend too much. I know 1-2 months from now, prices will drop and new models will come out. I'm afraid that I'm at the cusp of a price cut or new deal. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What if a new deal pops up tomorrow after I buy?  So I search and wait.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The predicament is great.  Like many things in life, it’s about choices.  I think buyer’s remorse is really a fear of commitment.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm… commitment.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This reminds me of dating and how we go about choosing a spouse. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During school I learned about the stable matching problem (from mathematical graph theory):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/SaI_y08KhzI/AAAAAAAAAX0/L9dMA8_yCsY/s1600/bipartite+matching.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305873453432866610" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/SaI_y08KhzI/AAAAAAAAAX0/L9dMA8_yCsY/s320/bipartite+matching.bmp" style="margin-top: 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Given n men and n women, where each person has ranked all members of the opposite sex with a unique number between 1 and n in order of preference, marry the men and women off such that there are no two people of opposite sex who would both rather have each other than their current partners. If there are no such people, all the marriages are "stable"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Various algorithms to solve this problem can be read &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stable_matching"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course the men and women can be substituted with applicants and universities, residents and hospitals, and other things in life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life as we know it boggles the mind.  In hindsight, I suppose you can think of all the permutations of your actions... and lose your mind over it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You just stop looking”, my wife would say. I agree in regards to the laptop. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But does that imply I was just 2nd best!? or 3rd? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh my...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/xcUrYGOJ2xs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/6718304710827622591/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=6718304710827622591" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/6718304710827622591?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/6718304710827622591?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/xcUrYGOJ2xs/laptops-algorithms-and-commitment.html" title="Laptops, Algorithms and Commitment" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/SaI_y08KhzI/AAAAAAAAAX0/L9dMA8_yCsY/s72-c/bipartite+matching.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2009/02/laptops-algorithms-and-commitment.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUINR34yfip7ImA9WxVXFU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-398003845778853100</id><published>2008-11-15T14:45:00.026-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T01:46:36.096-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-02-13T01:46:36.096-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ideals" /><title>The Sandbox</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/SR5xuJY1i6I/AAAAAAAAAWk/xYcvBdAVAQA/s1600-h/sandbox.bmp" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268773651678071714" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/SR5xuJY1i6I/AAAAAAAAAWk/xYcvBdAVAQA/s200/sandbox.bmp" style="float: left; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-top: 0px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Living in a sandbox.&lt;br /&gt;As children we played in a sandbox, filled with toy trucks, scoopers and buckets, free to build things and have fun.  Some 20 or 30 years later, are we still playing in a sandbox as we live out our lives?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More days then not, I feel like life is about the accumulation of toys and things; things that we fancy and things that are for fun.   The malls are overwhelming, overflowing abundantly with goods.  Who ordered so much? And what happens to all the things that are not sold?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As adults we make money and we spend our disposable income on goods.  And it's our every right to enjoy the bounties of our labour.  But we end up getting toys...  Toys I will call them because they have no consequence to the betterment of this world, but are there merely for our enjoyment and comfort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Consumption is the engine that turns the wheels of our economy.  We are programmed to want and to buy, right from childhood.  Marketing companies know so much about our psyche, they bedazzle us through their advertisements, convincing us to buy their product.  We have such strong associations with brands and emotional attachment to them and we have readily available ammunition to defend the products we love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And all the while the world is hungry.  While the planet is stretched beyond it's &lt;a href="http://www.wwfindia.org/news_facts/lpr2006/ef/index.cfm"&gt;ecological capacity&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's interesting that the measure of how well our economy is doing is in consumer confidence.  When consumer confidence falls, the economists and investors get jittery, because money must flow from the rich to the rich.   Who will buy up all the goods that were produced?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From childhood we are programmed... by society and by our parents.  Playing with cars and playing house… it all comes true in our adulthood.  We get a good education, to have a good job, to be comfortable.  To be well off and to "make it".  Having money so we can choose from a variety of options.   The choice to choose any toy we want in the sandbox.  Whatever and whenever.  Without this freedom, we feel trapped... as if in a box.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We learn to desire and we learn to deserve these things, acquiring a keen sense of entitlement... sensitive and relative to what our peers get.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And through it all, I believe we become irrelevant, indifferent to the rest of the world.  It's about my enjoyment and me only.  We become senile to the things that matter… we become removed and ineffective to the hurts of this world; we exacerbate the hurts of the world... and if ever criticized, we deflect and combat this criticism and creatively legitimize our actions and inactions… because "I am right" or "this is your opinion, not mine" or "it's not my problem".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They say with knowledge comes responsibility.  Then as educated citizens of this earth, what are we responsible for?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"'Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To me every choice has a consequence, an implication.  I believe life is no longer a playground without consequences.  There is responsibility.  Perhaps it starts with a balanced lifestyle of consumption (like a balanced diet), conscious of our impact... shall we call it responsible toy buying?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 1993 film Schindler's List is based on a true story of a German businessman who saves over a thousand Jews during the Holocaust by employing them in his factory.  One scene haunts me to this day.  Near the end, when the Jews in his factory are about to be liberated by the Russians, Oskar Schindler must flee.  The Jews give him a ring made from a worker’s golden teeth filings with the engravings “He who saves the life of one man, saves the world entire.”  He is deeply moved and ashamed that he did not do more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson)&lt;/span&gt;: I could have got more out. I could have got more. I don't know. If I'd just... I could have got more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Itzhak Stern&lt;/span&gt;: Oskar, there are eleven hundred people who are alive because of you. Look at them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Oskar Schindler&lt;/span&gt;: If I'd made more money... I threw away so much money. You have no idea. If I'd just...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Itzhak Stern&lt;/span&gt;: There will be generations because of what you did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Oskar Schindler&lt;/span&gt;: I didn't do enough!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Itzhak Stern&lt;/span&gt;: You did so much.&lt;br /&gt;[Schindler looks at his car]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Oskar Schindler&lt;/span&gt;: This car. Goeth would have bought this car. Why did I keep the car? Ten people right there. Ten people. Ten more people.&lt;br /&gt;[removing Nazi pin from lapel]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Oskar Schindler&lt;/span&gt;: This pin. Two people. This is gold. Two more people. He would have given me two for it, at least one. One more person. A person, Stern. For this.&lt;br /&gt;[sobbing]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Oskar Schindler&lt;/span&gt;: I could have gotten one more person... and I didn't! And I... I didn't!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This haunts me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our generation is in the midst of a time when we know what we should do, we know the consequences of our actions and inaction.  We know that the ice caps are melting and our lifestyles consume the earth and people are starving.  We are at a time in history where we can end extreme poverty: we have the knowledge, the technology.. yet we lack the collective will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Generations from now.. they will look back at us. And closer to home they will look back at us.  Our kids, our nieces and nephews, our grandkids will grow up and ask and wonder... why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why as adults, we played in a sandbox... and didn't do more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully as we grow old, we will grow up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/-gvBOQvjQLM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/398003845778853100/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=398003845778853100" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/398003845778853100?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/398003845778853100?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/-gvBOQvjQLM/sandbox.html" title="The Sandbox" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/SR5xuJY1i6I/AAAAAAAAAWk/xYcvBdAVAQA/s72-c/sandbox.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2008/11/sandbox.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkANQnk8fip7ImA9WxZXEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-4296389005598857452</id><published>2008-02-15T00:17:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T01:46:33.776-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-02-27T01:46:33.776-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ideals" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="introspection" /><title>Remember To Remember</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R8UHH-NuAmI/AAAAAAAAAP8/AaCY3iKSzmM/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 233px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R8UHH-NuAmI/AAAAAAAAAP8/AaCY3iKSzmM/s400/untitled.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171547580645900898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I have to remind myself of my past.  I try not to forget &lt;span&gt;where I've come from and what I've been through&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think too many times there is a tenancy to have gold fish memory. It's easy to forget the trials we've been through, the dreams that have come true and the miracles that have happened in our lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leading up to a dire or pivotal moment in life, all our attention is solely focussed on it, yet when it's over, we just accept it.  And quickly it becomes insignificant and passively we move on to the next event in our lives.  Too easily, it is erased by the next crisis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a child, think how much you wanted that particular toy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or when you were getting your drivers license, how you longed for the freedom to drive on the open road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or when you were applying to college or university, how desperately you wanted to get in to the program of your choice, thinking that it would forever determine your future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or when you looked for that first job after graduating, what a seemingly impossible task it was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or how earnestly you wanted to be in a relationship with a significant other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or how close you came to dying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These pivotal moments in life are numerous and likely insignificant now. How many of them do we see as just luck or merely the logical sequence of events in hindsight?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe we are richly blessed as kings and queens in this world... yet we go about living, forgetting where we have come from, the importance of what we have been through.  Instead of these events changing us permanently and leaving an everlasting mark on us, we go on as if nothing happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have to remember to remember.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/D1nRXsrGg5g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/4296389005598857452/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=4296389005598857452" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/4296389005598857452?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/4296389005598857452?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/D1nRXsrGg5g/remember-to-remember.html" title="Remember To Remember" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R8UHH-NuAmI/AAAAAAAAAP8/AaCY3iKSzmM/s72-c/untitled.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2008/02/remember-to-remember.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04ERXw4fCp7ImA9WxZTEkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-8161643949686397062</id><published>2008-01-14T01:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T01:25:04.234-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-01-14T01:25:04.234-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="contemplation" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ideals" /><title>The Worthwhile Resume</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R4nIeTDBkrI/AAAAAAAAAPg/2SOFrv_WvNQ/s1600-h/resume-icon.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 153px;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R4nIeTDBkrI/AAAAAAAAAPg/2SOFrv_WvNQ/s400/resume-icon.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154871671336833714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Who are you and what is your brand?&lt;br /&gt;What value can you add?&lt;br /&gt;What unique skills and insightful perspective can you contribute?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In which we have our resumes at hand:  A few pages of writing to show what we can do, giving us identity; A few pages to showcase our skills and relevant experiences proving we are "top talent"; That we are valuable people and worth a certain salary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And still it's not enough.  We are bombarded by society to develop more and more our sales skills, leadership skills, managerial and technical skills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On top of this we are invariably told to do the smart thing and make an investment in something; To get ahead and increase our  financial net worth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;And we are told to love.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait... society doesn't bombard us to be loving, not overwhelmingly anyway.  Wouldn't that be weird if it did?   I find that the only strong message to be loving or caring come from the religious institutions that have become largely irrelevant, misinterpreted and forgotten by the non-religious.  That and also children's shows like Sesame Street.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps that's why there is an influx of social justice and environmentalist movements among the socially conscious.  These are dire times in the world, but maybe it speaks something about what people were created to do.  That is, to love.  Could it be that our souls have been so sapped by Western culture's push for productivity, self importance and self improvement that after the splurge in materialism turning out to be ineffective in dealing with matters of the heart, we now en mass turn to do something about this tug in our hearts?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you've been doing something about the pains of the world before it became a cool and romantic endeavor, before it was good to include on a resume or business school application, then you are awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet maybe I'm being too harsh...  if the net effect is that people are helped, then perhaps motives aren't so important... another topic for another day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe we should cultivate and grow our hearts so that this muscle that pumps blood through our veins remains strong, giving us energy to care for others and courage to do what is right. We should seek to develop a heart able enough in it's ability to love so that when the time of testing comes, it may not fail us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of seeking to build a resume full of accreditations and experiences demonstrating leadership, we should look to develop that unseen resume full of experiences and achievements done through a loving heart which includes both big causes and small daily ones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because, I believe that is what God will be looking for in the end.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/AgxUTDVLHDY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/8161643949686397062/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=8161643949686397062" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/8161643949686397062?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/8161643949686397062?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/AgxUTDVLHDY/worthwhile-resume.html" title="The Worthwhile Resume" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R4nIeTDBkrI/AAAAAAAAAPg/2SOFrv_WvNQ/s72-c/resume-icon.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2008/01/worthwhile-resume.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk8ASXs8cSp7ImA9WB9bE00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-7389538463578271114</id><published>2007-12-10T19:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-22T01:27:28.579-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-12-22T01:27:28.579-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humour" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="contemplation" /><title>Wedding: The Dénouement</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R2yq5zDBkkI/AAAAAAAAAOo/4xFUoA1xsYM/s1600-h/1.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 148px;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R2yq5zDBkkI/AAAAAAAAAOo/4xFUoA1xsYM/s400/1.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146676384109793858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;There was song and dance. Tears and laughter. Three beautiful maids and three noble musketeers with questionable mustachios.    A sword duel with a one eyed man.  A Ph.D student turned (cinderella fashion) into a limo driver for the night.  An Apple addict turned country singer.  Love was in the air: a budding romance between the flower girl and the ring boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R2yrpTDBknI/AAAAAAAAAPA/ViCDK6RKXTY/s1600-h/4.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 154px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R2yrpTDBknI/AAAAAAAAAPA/ViCDK6RKXTY/s400/4.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146677200153580146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R2ysDDDBkpI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/VUopJEEJr2I/s1600-h/2.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 154px;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R2ysDDDBkpI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/VUopJEEJr2I/s400/2.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146677642535211666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was enough excitement to fill a Bollywood movie or Korean drama, and enough happiness for the groom to be still smiling late into the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R2yqozDBkjI/AAAAAAAAAOg/41r_h3MGzeI/s1600-h/5.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R2yqozDBkjI/AAAAAAAAAOg/41r_h3MGzeI/s400/5.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146676092052017714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And the next day the couple left for Cuba to live happily ever after...&lt;br /&gt;for a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What an ordeal weddings are.  Seriously, whoever invented the modern day wedding and its affiliated practices should be... told something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weeks before the wedding and even now... weeks after the wedding, there is work, work, work... just for the sake of two people living together and creating a home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before the wedding, we found ourselves simultaneously:&lt;br /&gt;1) Planning a big party&lt;br /&gt;2) Planning to move into an apartment&lt;br /&gt;3) Planning for a trip to Cuba&lt;br /&gt;4) Preparing ourselves mentally, spiritually to live together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can imagine that each of these four events are quite the events themselves and could be a big deal on its own.   Yet it was done.  None of which could have been possible without the help and support of friends and family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you and I hope it was fun.  It sure was fun for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R2ytvzDBkqI/AAAAAAAAAPY/NA0IqwaQGjc/s1600-h/6.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 119px;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R2ytvzDBkqI/AAAAAAAAAPY/NA0IqwaQGjc/s400/6.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146679510845985442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And of course getting married is not a destination to arrive at, but a starting point for a greater journey.  So now we start our homemaking: the cleaning, the rearranging, the snoring, not having cookies and having cookies, and assembling of Ikea furniture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One question though... where in the world does Ikea come up with furniture names like INGOLF, HOPEN, FORSBY?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/sT5OHJubVOo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/7389538463578271114/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=7389538463578271114" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/7389538463578271114?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/7389538463578271114?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/sT5OHJubVOo/wedding-dnouement.html" title="Wedding: The Dénouement" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/R2yq5zDBkkI/AAAAAAAAAOo/4xFUoA1xsYM/s72-c/1.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/12/wedding-dnouement.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8NRX08eip7ImA9WB9XFU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-3119298295325216496</id><published>2007-11-06T23:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-08T03:01:34.372-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-11-08T03:01:34.372-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="contemplation" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ideals" /><title>The Wedding Approacheth</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Ry6Zv5YM8qI/AAAAAAAAANI/dJXOfnc6RD4/s1600-h/200_7686_1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Ry6Zv5YM8qI/AAAAAAAAANI/dJXOfnc6RD4/s400/200_7686_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129206073756807842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;What can I say?  I am lucky in love.  It will be our 9 year anniversary soon, which is also the day of our wedding. Who knew nine years ago that I would be marrying this wonderful person. Yes, sappy indeed, so please try to overcome the sappiness as you read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As they say in the programming work I do, the "go-live" date is fast approaching in less then three weeks!    And then we will be husband and wife.  Should I be busy reading some books on "how to become a husband"? =)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indeed, it is exciting times for me and my fiancée.  We've had many memorable memories to date:  getting the ring and asking her to marry me, the roaring applause of our friends at a certain restaurant the first friday after the engagement, the thick plotted surprise engagement party several weeks later, the renting of certain secret costumes (those that know... shhh!!!), scanning bar codes for the gift registry at our favourite discount retailer, chasing and getting our elusive apartment, finding out of certain "dirty" bridal shower gifts,  clearing out two Wal-Marts worth of chocolates...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And don't worry, we will not disappear once we are married.  It is continually cemented in our minds that life is about relationships.  So I really hope to avoid situations where you will feel uncomfortable in the presence of a lovey dovey couple... but you may yell at us to "get a room!" if we ever do.  And for those helping us through this time and have invested in us these years... thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am lucky, because she is certainly the only person in the world that would put up with me and my antics.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/NN56TdtzCdI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/3119298295325216496/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=3119298295325216496" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/3119298295325216496?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/3119298295325216496?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/NN56TdtzCdI/wedding-approacheth.html" title="The Wedding Approacheth" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Ry6Zv5YM8qI/AAAAAAAAANI/dJXOfnc6RD4/s72-c/200_7686_1.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/11/wedding-approacheth.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkIEQX84fSp7ImA9WB9XFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-5026207992903067599</id><published>2007-11-02T15:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-11-09T00:01:40.135-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-11-09T00:01:40.135-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humour" /><title>MSG Goodness: Part Deux</title><content type="html">Just when you thought you knew all my noodle eating ways! Just when you thought that I eat only one brand of instant noodles!  You judge me too soon, as I am a cultured man of diversity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is another...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RzKJcSGDjMI/AAAAAAAAANg/EkXW5IAEBSI/s1600-h/Chapagetti2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 140px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RzKJcSGDjMI/AAAAAAAAANg/EkXW5IAEBSI/s200/Chapagetti2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130314044514995394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Chapagetti: black bean paste instant noodles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing else satisfies the longing for succulent sauce &amp;amp; noodles.  Wine and cheese are indeed the apotheosis of food and drink, but these instant noodles are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;il primo&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some cultural lessons from wikipedia:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;"&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jajangmyeon"&gt;Jajangmyeon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jajangmyeon"&gt; &lt;/a&gt;is originally a Chinese dish, but the version familiar to Koreans is usually only found in Chinese restaurants in Korea or those serving Korean customers. This dish is also available in other countries where there is a large Korean population. In other words, Jajangmyeon is Korean cuisine in the way that pizza is American, rather than Italian, cuisine."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yum!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for those expecting a dose of MSG as in the &lt;a href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/06/msg-goodness-shin-ramen_28.html"&gt;first MSG goodness post&lt;/a&gt;, you will not be disappointed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/mZA5Jm4x_Mo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/5026207992903067599/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=5026207992903067599" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/5026207992903067599?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/5026207992903067599?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/mZA5Jm4x_Mo/msg-goodness-part-deux.html" title="MSG Goodness: Part Deux" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RzKJcSGDjMI/AAAAAAAAANg/EkXW5IAEBSI/s72-c/Chapagetti2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/11/msg-goodness-part-deux.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE8HQ306eSp7ImA9WB9REUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-2253478983337528467</id><published>2007-10-08T23:29:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-12T01:27:12.311-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-12T01:27:12.311-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humour" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="contemplation" /><title>A Few Words On Shoes</title><content type="html">I have a secret obsession to admit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Rwr5D7UdYKI/AAAAAAAAAKw/ycO9T5zwfpI/s1600-h/AirMax.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 145px; height: 145px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Rwr5D7UdYKI/AAAAAAAAAKw/ycO9T5zwfpI/s200/AirMax.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119177772318417058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Rwr4l7UdYII/AAAAAAAAAKg/JFur4Bd8F64/s1600-h/Air++Max.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 145px; height: 145px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Rwr4l7UdYII/AAAAAAAAAKg/JFur4Bd8F64/s200/Air++Max.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119177256922341506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm in love with...  shoes.  In grade 4, after throwing many fits and tantrums, I was the proud wearer of these &lt;a href="http://www.sneakers.cz/encyklopedie/2/nike-air-max-90-classic-white-cement-grey-infared-black/"&gt;Nike Air Max&lt;/a&gt;. With their late 80s sizzling hot colors, nothing screamed "spoiled brat" more than these. Yet, they allowed me to freely gallivant during recess and roam many rolling hills during the summer of 1990. I made sure I got them many sizes larger so that I could grow in to them, with the only problem being that they fell off my feet very easily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shoes. If you think about it, you rely on them every day to provide comfort and style, assurance and confidence. They give you the bounce in your step. You depend on them to be durable, to stand the test of time and resist the elements. And they can give a young boy the little bit of self esteem he lacks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can't rush a shoe purchase. Oh no. Shoes can be the biggest pain when they are not comfortable or if they chew holes in your socks. If picked right, they can be a source of comfort. You can gaze at them when standing, when bored, when shy. Oh, that ever so familiar sight!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not a collector of shoes; that is, I don't have a room full of them. I prefer a monogamous relationship as much as possible with the few shoes I have. As they get worn in and age, they become so personal, so part of you. A loyalty is built up as they become that faithful travel buddy. I'm always saddened when a good pair of shoes wears down quickly. Luckily I know a good local shoe repairman that can extend the life of my shoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nowadays, dress shoes are my thing. There is something enjoyable about taking the time to polish them. And lately, I'm thinking of getting brown dress shoes. But I hear that you have to match them with a brown leather belt and brown watch band and brown hair and they don't go all too well with black pants. So complicated! I was kidding about the brown hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was thinking of some analogy and life application to shoes, but there are too many, so I will just reminisce... and resist the urge to wear sizzling hot colors again. All I will say is that in the walk of life, you need some good shoes to take you places.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/GAlhPQvi2oc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/2253478983337528467/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=2253478983337528467" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/2253478983337528467?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/2253478983337528467?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/GAlhPQvi2oc/few-words-on-shoes.html" title="A Few Words On Shoes" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Rwr5D7UdYKI/AAAAAAAAAKw/ycO9T5zwfpI/s72-c/AirMax.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/10/few-words-on-shoes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4NR348eSp7ImA9WB9REEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-3505146214280079544</id><published>2007-09-28T01:10:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T02:09:56.071-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-11T02:09:56.071-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humour" /><title>Customer Service At Its Finest</title><content type="html">A couple of weeks ago, I ate lunch at Quiznos Sub's. The server smiled and eagerly asked if I wanted white or whole wheat bread. I chose whole wheat bread. The smile was warm and genuine.  Then a random train of thought went by... leading me to remember this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RvyM7HXuXhI/AAAAAAAAAI8/vFShIGcPvDs/s1600-h/Film.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 192px; height: 126px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RvyM7HXuXhI/AAAAAAAAAI8/vFShIGcPvDs/s200/Film.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115118224004767250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Once long ago, I worked at a movie theater. At the concession booth, I toiled away at serving popcorn "layered" with margarine (layered refers to half filling the bag with popcorn, applying margarine and then filling the rest with popcorn and adding more margarine), "up-selling" extra large pop (double the size for 50 cents more), nachos with jalapeño, cheese and salsa, and extra expensive hot dogs to movie goers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fun times were when we goofed around and ate the day's left over hot dogs dipped in the day's left over nacho cheese sauce (otherwise they throw it all away!). When it wasn't busy, we tried to look busy and needlessly cleaned things. I also remember when the manager yelling at us for not popping popcorn during the pre-movie rush. He wanted the buttery smell in the air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RvyNF3XuXiI/AAAAAAAAAJE/3eNY3APtJBE/s1600-h/Popcorn.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 141px; height: 156px;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RvyNF3XuXiI/AAAAAAAAAJE/3eNY3APtJBE/s200/Popcorn.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115118408688360994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Anyways, there was one time when I was serving and the manager came up to me afterwards. He said, "a customer approached me just now and said that they had the best customer service experience ever because of you." I smiled, thinking "wha? who?". After the flabbergastation wore off, I felt quite smug and accomplished. I mean who gets such a satisfied experience out of being served popcorn layered with Becel and Coke!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this was the meager satisfaction I could get out of a minimum wage  paying job.  Those were fun times.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/zBrMzeKh5-w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/3505146214280079544/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=3505146214280079544" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/3505146214280079544?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/3505146214280079544?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/zBrMzeKh5-w/customer-service-at-its-finest.html" title="Customer Service At Its Finest" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RvyM7HXuXhI/AAAAAAAAAI8/vFShIGcPvDs/s72-c/Film.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/09/customer-service-at-its-finest.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEIGSHc-fSp7ImA9WB9REUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-8821103364465336934</id><published>2007-09-21T23:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-12T01:22:09.955-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-12T01:22:09.955-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="contemplation" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ideals" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="introspection" /><title>Half Full or Half Empty?</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RvSOZ3XuXcI/AAAAAAAAAIU/9My7HFAEnHc/s1600-h/Glass-of-water.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 97px; height: 140px;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RvSOZ3XuXcI/AAAAAAAAAIU/9My7HFAEnHc/s200/Glass-of-water.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112868051983687106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Is my mind half full or half empty?  Of what you ask?  I like to think that it's more full of optimism than not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some may see this glass of liquid as 'half full' while some may see the same cup as 'half empty'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just like the glass, you can look at life from different perspectives and have different opinions on things. A matter of optimism vs. pessimism, positivity vs. negativity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are things in life that I really value, that I find worth in. What those are exactly is not the point, but I'm thinking in a broader general sense. Take my university experience for example. As I discussed before, I learned and grew much. But to some others, the university experience (be it the particular school or program of study) was a waste of time and money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or take church for example. Some are negative about (their own) church and say it lacks this and that and express discontentment. But the exact same church is my place of comfort and contentment. Can we see things so differently?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or Canadian health-care for example. Some say that the country's health care is deteriorating. But easily forgotten is the fact that we have universal public health care and state of the art medical facilities which many in the world don't have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt;Do you notice the fullness or the emptiness?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess this shows, people experience life in different ways. Perhaps they do recognize that what we have is good and acceptable but are also saying it can be much better... and they fret over the 10% that could be improved. Don't get me wrong, I'm all in favor of ambition and progress and we should definitely strive to achieve more. But do we have to be such grumps about it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like to think that my optimism isn't just mindless, hopeless empty rhetoric. My optimism comes from focusing on the positives, in the beauty of things. I believe to bear the burdens of life well (and so far it's worked), we must try to take the best things out of situations and learn from it and adapt because of it. To notice only the negatives or dwell mostly on the negatives distracts you far too easily from the positives and leads you to a path of frustration.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;If you look for the negatives, you are sure to find it in everything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are times when I've talked excitedly to others about a certain movie, restaurant, store or product, only to be met with an unenthusiastic or condescending "...it was OK, it was so so". Perhaps these folks have a much finer taste in these things that is beyond me... or are just different, which is fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, having different opinions and perspectives makes life interesting, sometimes leading to great duels of words and ideas. With that in mind, I optimistically hope that you take note of the beautiful and good things in life and learn to focus on them. Disagree as you may with others, I ask that you try not to ruin the good and beautiful things experienced by them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;“Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.” (Preface)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;The Picture of Dorian Gray – Oscar Wilde&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/fHODszOyOSI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/8821103364465336934/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=8821103364465336934" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/8821103364465336934?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/8821103364465336934?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/fHODszOyOSI/half-full-or-half-empty.html" title="Half Full or Half Empty?" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RvSOZ3XuXcI/AAAAAAAAAIU/9My7HFAEnHc/s72-c/Glass-of-water.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/09/half-full-or-half-empty.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4NR348eSp7ImA9WB9REEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-7861856753797496409</id><published>2007-09-14T00:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T02:09:56.071-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-11T02:09:56.071-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humour" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="contemplation" /><title>Hello Sir</title><content type="html">In my business travels, I am called Sir a lot - from flight attendants, taxi drivers, hotel and restaurant workers, airport employees (minus the custom guards who I always call Sir or Ma'am).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hello Sir", "Thank you Sir", "Take care Sir".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RurRBYekkUI/AAAAAAAAAHk/H9STjEfB9x0/s1600-h/American+Airlines.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 115px;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RurRBYekkUI/AAAAAAAAAHk/H9STjEfB9x0/s200/American+Airlines.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110126548885999938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;While this may be just common courtesy and may not mean much, I feel being called Sir is undeserving for me.  Sure, I am playing the part of the businessman and they the servers.   Sure, it's a sign of respect, but I feel undeserving of that respect, because I've done nothing to earn it.  I mean just because I'm dressed up and able to pay (with company money) for these services... does that makes me entitled to be called Sir?  I don't think so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people may like being called Sir, but me... being called Sir by others, especially older people is weird.  In Korean culture, it's important and common to show respect to those that are older then you.  And certainly, I try to call people Sir when I can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just the other day, as I was being dropped off at home by a taxi driver,  I was going to say "Thank you, good night Sir".&lt;br /&gt;But then he said "Thank you Sir" first.&lt;br /&gt;So I just left it at "Thank you, good night",  thinking "darn it, he got to it first..." I thought it would be forced and awkward when two people are calling each other Sir.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/zlpkwZa7pl8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/7861856753797496409/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=7861856753797496409" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/7861856753797496409?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/7861856753797496409?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/zlpkwZa7pl8/hello-sir.html" title="Hello Sir" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RurRBYekkUI/AAAAAAAAAHk/H9STjEfB9x0/s72-c/American+Airlines.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/09/hello-sir.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUcARng_eyp7ImA9WB9REEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-8401792505936959848</id><published>2007-08-15T23:27:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T02:10:47.643-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-11T02:10:47.643-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ideals" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="introspection" /><title>What Is Your Brand?</title><content type="html">Coming out of university, I felt the pressure to identify myself for the rest of my life. Who am I? What was I to become? Someone great? Software developer? Engineer? All sorts of titles emanated from the dominant and impenetrable corporate monoliths.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few days ago, I was asked by a coworker, "what is your brand?" All new hires in our company go to a huge convention to get indoctrinated in the ways of the company. And there, we are convinced that we work for a great company and we are told to develop our "brand" - what you are known for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While this is good advice, and I still believed in most of the corporate indoctrination, the question didn't sit well with me - "what is your brand?" I mean I believe in striving and developing myself in a broad sense, but to state my "brand" then and there... In the few moments of the conversation, the concept of my "brand" became a cliche to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a few words, how is it possible to explain yourself? - as if to pitch a business idea in an elevator. How is it possible to explain who you are, everything you do in the different facets of your life, every meaningful thing you believe in, in a mere sentence?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I AM ME.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RsPEulLZqnI/AAAAAAAAAHU/e4R8BtwH3i8/s1600-h/book.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 125px; height: 125px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RsPEulLZqnI/AAAAAAAAAHU/e4R8BtwH3i8/s200/book.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099135507646491250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I believe who we are encompasses our whole lives - beginning to the end. We are like a book, and a day of our lives is a page. Who you see now, who you judge me to be... can only have come from the few pages you've seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And anyone that quickly assumes you fall into some category, and doesn't bother with getting to know you... there is a category they will quickly fall in to - I'm sorry to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is your brand?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honestly, I don't feel like selling right now... so keep reading.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/ScXxOIDe66M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/8401792505936959848/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=8401792505936959848" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/8401792505936959848?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/8401792505936959848?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/ScXxOIDe66M/what-is-your-brand.html" title="What Is Your Brand?" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RsPEulLZqnI/AAAAAAAAAHU/e4R8BtwH3i8/s72-c/book.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/08/what-is-your-brand.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUcARng_fCp7ImA9WB9REEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-5992195754091891936</id><published>2007-08-04T02:09:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T02:10:47.644-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-11T02:10:47.644-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ideals" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="introspection" /><title>In Search of True Contentment</title><content type="html">Which to me is about thankfulness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the past, I used to think that I didn't need money and wealth because I found contentment; I need very little to be happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For my parents, it was different because they grew up in a country rebuilding after war.  For them it was a world where everyone was trying to survive and get ahead.  But here I am, thinking at one point that I was enlightened and better than this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course it's easy to think like this when I have not tasted poverty and have been well provided all my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Question:  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So then which is it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it the fact that I've lived a good life, with much support from family and friends that I can say I am humble and thankful? A result of exterior influences?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or is this something in my core, that would be thankful and humble despite hardship and injustice?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Answer... sort of, not really, more questions:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If the answer is both external influences and internal character, then I can accept that.  But then I'm left to wonder, in the truest sense of introspection, what kind of person I would be in a hostile environment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I grew up in a country with poverty, in a broken family, and hence felt a huge sense of injustice at the world... would I still be as I am now? Or would I be bitter and full of anger.  But then am I now legitimizing those that do bad things because of their external influences?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or for those that have been given so much and are still not content, that still have a sense of injustice, greed and entitlement... are they to be pitied because they can't find contentment even with so much?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or does this really matter at all? Don't worry because  I still remain thankful and content.&lt;br /&gt;Hmm... Paul did speak of the &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Philippians%204:11-13;&amp;amp;version=72;"&gt;secret of contentment&lt;/a&gt;.  I wish I could speak to him now...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps this is an overdose of introspection and my head hurts.&lt;br /&gt;I think I will move on to more productive things.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/0hO4CzBq4TU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/5992195754091891936/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=5992195754091891936" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/5992195754091891936?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/5992195754091891936?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/0hO4CzBq4TU/thankfulness-draft.html" title="In Search of True Contentment" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/08/thankfulness-draft.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEEFRX8zfip7ImA9WB9REUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-6464559051146013758</id><published>2007-07-16T01:20:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-12T01:23:34.186-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-12T01:23:34.186-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ideals" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="introspection" /><title>Once Upon Some Dreams</title><content type="html">Dreams are supposedly hard to remember because we don't access our long term memory when we dream. That's why we forget them so easily. In my lifetime, I've had some interesting dreams... of which I've forgotten most. I just know I had them... I think. But there have been two such dreams which were very vivid and which I remember to this day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During my last year of university, I was extremely stressed and approaching a breaking point. I was doubtful of my future and felt no control of my destiny, regardless of how much I tried. Where was my life to go? I faced the possibility of going nowhere with no undergrad degree, no prospects. This future, or lack of it, was very real and tangible. And the thought of any Biblical story was far from my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then one night, out of nowhere,  I dreamt of &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%2014:22%E2%80%9332;&amp;amp;version=51;"&gt;Peter walking on water toward Jesus&lt;/a&gt; from Matthew 14. It was vivid like a movie playing in my mind. The viewpoint was from Peter's eyes and I remember walking out on to the water and looking down at my feet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Have faith like Peter and you can do great things. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;A voiced lingered in my mind.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.hollywoodjesus.com/walking_water.htm"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 141px;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RpwyV77A4PI/AAAAAAAAAHE/7VWgmwcwMl4/s200/walkin4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087997031465672946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Although Peter eventually felt fear and fell into the water, he had the initial faith to step out and walk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Have faith like Peter and you can do great things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This message has had a profound impact on my life. With God holding me together, I got through it. I did graduate, I got a job against all odds and I found a purpose. I am so thankful for this and I know that there is work to be done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another dream I had was several years prior to the one above.   This other dream was of the scary kind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The morning of September 11th, 2001 at around 7:50 am... yes, the day of the attacks on the World Trade Center, I awoke from a nightmare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the dream, I had the sense that the end of the world was coming - dread, fear and panic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RpsAYr7A4OI/AAAAAAAAAG4/CwR62qLyMK4/s1600-h/Fireballs1.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 91px;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RpsAYr7A4OI/AAAAAAAAAG4/CwR62qLyMK4/s200/Fireballs1.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087660628152213730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span&gt;I was on my 11th floor apartment balcony facing the east. My mom and I, w&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;e were looking to the sky and it was red and we could feel intense heat on our skin. Up in the sky, hurling towards us were four fireballs.&lt;/span&gt;  At these times I wish I could paint like Renoir.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What does it mean?"&lt;br /&gt;"What does it mean to you?"&lt;br /&gt;I simply don't know, but there were four planes that crashed that day and many people died. I suppose the dream was like a "disturbance in the force".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God works in mysterious ways, and he is not always clear to us and things become evident much later.  I believe God speaks when He so chooses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There have been times in my life where it was absolutely hopeless; A place where my spirit was broken. I did everything possible according to my own strength and still failed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to this very day and many years to come, I remain utterly thankful for the life given to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/cDlZgMed8W8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/6464559051146013758/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=6464559051146013758" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/6464559051146013758?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/6464559051146013758?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/cDlZgMed8W8/once-upon-some-dreams.html" title="Once Upon Some Dreams" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RpwyV77A4PI/AAAAAAAAAHE/7VWgmwcwMl4/s72-c/walkin4.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/07/once-upon-some-dreams.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUESX85fCp7ImA9WB9REEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-5216433775628883370</id><published>2007-07-06T20:40:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T02:13:28.124-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-11T02:13:28.124-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="contemplation" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ideals" /><title>The Death of the Mighty Fountain Pen</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Ro7hSrbwl4I/AAAAAAAAAF0/9NB-yI83edc/s1600-h/fountainpen1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 139px; height: 179px;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Ro7hSrbwl4I/AAAAAAAAAF0/9NB-yI83edc/s200/fountainpen1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084248740360918914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Many years ago, my beloved &lt;a href="http://all41athos.spaces.live.com/"&gt;Athos&lt;/a&gt; gave me a fountain pen as a gift. I was taken aback by the elegance of the writing instrument. The curves, the weight and the power; the smooth yet textured feeling when writing with it, is unmatched.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Ro7hgLbwl6I/AAAAAAAAAGE/FM_xHJTOjs8/s1600-h/inkbottlequink.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 186px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Ro7hgLbwl6I/AAAAAAAAAGE/FM_xHJTOjs8/s200/inkbottlequink.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084248972289152930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Unfortunately, the ink did not flow to see great poetry nor the signing of extravagant checks. It saw mostly the writing of calculus formulas, the scribbles of the writer dozing off in lectures and the occasional doodles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being in the IT business, I no longer write much with a pen. Instead, the keyboard has become my pen... and coffee has become my ink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I do miss those days of writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I suppose if I dwell on this pen too much, I am missing the point. I suppose the point is really about writing, speaking, thinking and ultimately, expression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Ro7hZbbwl5I/AAAAAAAAAF8/yfbcsc07OEA/s1600-h/fountain_pen2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 118px;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Ro7hZbbwl5I/AAAAAAAAAF8/yfbcsc07OEA/s200/fountain_pen2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084248856325035922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This blog has been a joy because it gives me the freedom to write.  And as my dear philosopher friend  quotes an article in &lt;a href="http://gizlau.blogspot.com/2007/06/picked-up-time-magazine-today-that-was.html"&gt;her blog&lt;/a&gt; - &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Blogs are by nature very personal—an intimate,  often ferocious expression of the blogger's passions"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Although the fountain pen, the mighty fountain pen may be dead, may you live to express freely.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/fuLQ7Kn1wfY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/5216433775628883370/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=5216433775628883370" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/5216433775628883370?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/5216433775628883370?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/fuLQ7Kn1wfY/death-of-mighty-fountain-pen.html" title="The Death of the Mighty Fountain Pen" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Ro7hSrbwl4I/AAAAAAAAAF0/9NB-yI83edc/s72-c/fountainpen1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/07/death-of-mighty-fountain-pen.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEEASXY4fSp7ImA9WB9REUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-464013049661009572</id><published>2007-06-28T00:38:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-12T01:24:08.835-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-12T01:24:08.835-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humour" /><title>MSG goodness: the Shin Ramen</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RoM7U7bwlyI/AAAAAAAAAFE/LOOoA7YdWZA/s1600-h/Korea_Instant_Noodle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 113px; height: 113px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RoM7U7bwlyI/AAAAAAAAAFE/LOOoA7YdWZA/s200/Korea_Instant_Noodle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080970035341596450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So I've resorted to blogging about instant noodles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must admit, there is nothing that soothes this Korean's belly like the one and only high sodium, high MSG, nutritionally deficient &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shin_ramen"&gt;Shin Ramen&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know its not healthy, but it tastes so good! So, I try to limit to eating this to once per month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An ancient art: I learned to cook instant noodles at a young age.  In fact, it was the very first thing I learned to cook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And over the years, I have perfected this delicate process of cooking instant noodles (In reality, I merely put extra bits of this and that).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ingredients:&lt;br /&gt;1 Shin Ramen, rice, 1 egg, &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kimchi"&gt;Kimchi&lt;/a&gt;, rice cake&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RoM7eLbwlzI/AAAAAAAAAFM/bRjBuW2rYHo/s1600-h/Shin_ramyun.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 139px;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RoM7eLbwlzI/AAAAAAAAAFM/bRjBuW2rYHo/s200/Shin_ramyun.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080970194255386418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;- Boil water (not too much water otherwise it becomes too watery)&lt;br /&gt;- Add vegetable packet + rice cakes&lt;br /&gt;- Boil 1 minute&lt;br /&gt;- Add noodles and 80% soup base (discard rest of soup base)&lt;br /&gt;- Boil 1 minute&lt;br /&gt;- Add egg and immediately stir, to prevent the egg from being cooked in a clump (personal preference)&lt;br /&gt;- Enable Kimchi fusion: liberally add Kimchi soup and cabbage&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Eat noodles&lt;br /&gt;- Once noodles are almost done, add rice, continue to eat&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YUM!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you've now got enough sodium and calories to last you a couple of days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be warned that this man is set on his ways, very set on his ways... when it comes his ramen.  Be wary if you dare cross paths with me and try to cook me noodles...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is something about these noodles.  Strangely, right after eating, my vocal chords are warmed up and I'm ready to sing!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/DKyEuttaDsw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/464013049661009572/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=464013049661009572" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/464013049661009572?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/464013049661009572?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/DKyEuttaDsw/msg-goodness-shin-ramen_28.html" title="MSG goodness: the Shin Ramen" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RoM7U7bwlyI/AAAAAAAAAFE/LOOoA7YdWZA/s72-c/Korea_Instant_Noodle.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/06/msg-goodness-shin-ramen_28.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEEDRHo8cCp7ImA9WB9REEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-5153540291850374054</id><published>2007-06-22T17:15:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T02:04:35.478-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-11T02:04:35.478-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="contemplation" /><title>Renoir et l'Art Impressionniste</title><content type="html">Here is one of my favourite paintings: &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Le Bal au Moulin de la Galette&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A masterpiece of impressionist art by Pierre Auguste Renoir.&lt;br /&gt;I'm no art connoisseur, but I can tell you why I like this artwork.&lt;br /&gt;I like it because... it's just great and I like it!  We don't have to be so learnededed to appreciate beauty, do we?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first glance you see a party going on and the two women in the center of the painting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Rnw78kl1gDI/AAAAAAAAACs/4VTpDePJMaM/s1600-h/moulin-galette.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Rnw78kl1gDI/AAAAAAAAACs/4VTpDePJMaM/s400/moulin-galette.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079000391567638578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Look closer...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is more going on in this painting then just a ball. If you look to the far right, there is a young man looking at the girl in the dark dress. A story unfolds that I can only image.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RpRVZbbwl7I/AAAAAAAAAGY/IKFIOVFS7gk/s1600-h/boater-straw-italian-hat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 185px; height: 123px;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RpRVZbbwl7I/AAAAAAAAAGY/IKFIOVFS7gk/s200/boater-straw-italian-hat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085783774557411250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The girls have their attention to the guy with his back to us. The younger girl (I'm assuming) is looking off somewhere yet still listening, while the girl in the dark dress is locked in conversation. Then there is the young man with the hat on the far right. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A brief glance &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;perhaps&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, but immortally frozen in this painting. He is frozen, while the crowd bustles with activity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is what this painting does to me. I feel like I'm in the painting and it evokes an emotional response.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="pkey"  style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnyQDUl1gII/AAAAAAAAADU/WJd3QYdStoc/s1600-h/terrace.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 249px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnyQDUl1gII/AAAAAAAAADU/WJd3QYdStoc/s320/terrace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079092866508488834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I have the utmost respect for artists.  Being raised by parents who are painters, I saw first  hand how so much goes into art.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's amazing, how art speaks to you in an emotional language. We are emotional creatures after all and to master, manipulate and create something that the viewer can relate to, something that will &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;move &lt;/span&gt;the viewer... amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Sur la Terrasse&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt; by Renoir. This is one of my better half's favorite paintings. In her words "...she has such a content look about her. She looks young but that expression gives her maturity. And I love the vivid, striking contrast of her red hat to the rest of the painting".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few more bits of info:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="pkey"  style="font-size:100%;"&gt;"To achieve the appearance of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;spontaneity&lt;/span&gt;, impressionist painters used broken brushstrokes of bright, often unmixed colors" -&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://encarta.msn.com/encyclopedia_761553672/article.html"&gt;msn encarta&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="pkey"  style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Impressionism is said to have influenced future art "by recreating the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;sensation in the eye&lt;/span&gt; that views the subject, rather than recreating the subject..." -&lt;span class="pkey"  style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impressionism"&gt;wikipedia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suppose I'm going on a theme here... French cuffs, French blue shirts, French impressionist art...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;French fries anyone?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/peUr5KIK5s8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/5153540291850374054/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=5153540291850374054" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/5153540291850374054?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/5153540291850374054?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/peUr5KIK5s8/renoir-et-lart-impressionniste_22.html" title="Renoir et l'Art Impressionniste" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Rnw78kl1gDI/AAAAAAAAACs/4VTpDePJMaM/s72-c/moulin-galette.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/06/renoir-et-lart-impressionniste_22.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUcARng_fCp7ImA9WB9REEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-7788709331093768318</id><published>2007-06-17T23:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T02:10:47.644-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-11T02:10:47.644-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ideals" /><title>On French Cuffs and Woven Fabric</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Rnclh0l1f4I/AAAAAAAAABI/ZrkLy3f9qHo/s1600-h/philips+collar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 175px; height: 109px;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Rnclh0l1f4I/AAAAAAAAABI/ZrkLy3f9qHo/s200/philips+collar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077568367866773378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Dress shirts are a particular favorite of my wardrobe. I may not seem like a shirt aficionado but I have come to appreciate a well fitting shirt carefully put together. Having to wear dress shirts most of my week, I have noticed the different styles and fabric used.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will discuss some particulars that I like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First and foremost is the white dress shirt. While framing the face, it also gives off an extremely clean and fresh aura (more so than Irish Spring soap!). Now add a touch of embroidered fabric and you are ready to seize the day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next is the French blue dress shirt, which is a standard in any wardrobe. This blue works well because it gives off a deep and rich look about it. The French sure know something when it comes to shirts. You can have patterns that add sophistication, but be wary of lined blue shirts that look like pajamas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYFH0l1f1I/AAAAAAAAAAw/RBPq7KjUIDA/s1600-h/Custom+Dress+Shirt+Cuffs.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 249px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYFH0l1f1I/AAAAAAAAAAw/RBPq7KjUIDA/s200/Custom+Dress+Shirt+Cuffs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077251261841375058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Cuffs and Cuff links - while most of my shirts are the standard button cuffs, there are some that are "convertible". I have not ventured to use cuff links yet but I do agree that they look cool and sophisticated (think of Jame Bond). Keep in mind that cuffs with cuff links can get in the way of eating, since they stick out of the wrists.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYJs0l1f2I/AAAAAAAAAA4/QVFH96JnOgg/s1600-h/Cuffs-Cuff-Links.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 161px; height: 119px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYJs0l1f2I/AAAAAAAAAA4/QVFH96JnOgg/s200/Cuffs-Cuff-Links.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077256295543045986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;French cuffs are very interesting because ... well just because it's French and it sounds foreign. The double folded stiff cuffs frame the wrists (a recurring theme of "framing").&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Collar styles - Now there are numerous different styles of collars out there which I won't get into. All I will say is that there are collars with wide and narrow tips. I hear that if you have a round face, you should get the narrow tips, where as if you have a sharp face, then get the wide collar tips... that is if you are wearing a tie. If you don't wear a tie then any style with one button open is good enough. But please! just one button open only.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Patterns - now if its a patterned dress shirt (like diagonal lines), take note of where the fabric panels meet. If its a fine crafted shirt, the pattern will more or less meet up, especially where the arm meets the shoulder panel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RncnGkl1f5I/AAAAAAAAABQ/7lp3Bms6m-8/s1600-h/collar+stays.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RncnGkl1f5I/AAAAAAAAABQ/7lp3Bms6m-8/s200/collar+stays.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077570098738593682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Collar stays - no other purpose than to make your collar tips straight (they slide into the collar tip)... or maybe you can use them to pick locks.  Check out these 24 karat gold plated collar stays from: &lt;a href="http://www.ikebeharstore.com/"&gt;www.ikebeharstore.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's it for now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And no.. I don't wear custom made shirts.  Imports from Korea are just fine with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember to always iron your shirts!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/x9HxlAfOSrg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/7788709331093768318/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=7788709331093768318" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/7788709331093768318?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/7788709331093768318?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/x9HxlAfOSrg/on-french-cuffs-and-woven-fabric.html" title="On French Cuffs and Woven Fabric" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp1.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/Rnclh0l1f4I/AAAAAAAAABI/ZrkLy3f9qHo/s72-c/philips+collar.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/06/on-french-cuffs-and-woven-fabric.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUcARng_fSp7ImA9WB9REEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1981203242120879969.post-4364199207765950272</id><published>2007-06-14T00:17:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T02:10:47.645-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-10-11T02:10:47.645-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humour" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ideals" /><title>Ouch! for Taylor</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnE_Skl1fzI/AAAAAAAAAAc/aWfopf6hAQg/s1600-h/310ce-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 97px;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnE_Skl1fzI/AAAAAAAAAAc/aWfopf6hAQg/s200/310ce-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075907843315826482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;!-- google_ad_section_start --&gt;Taylor 310ce&lt;!-- google_ad_section_end --&gt; - Crisp, black binding flanks the satin-finish         sapele back and sides and glossy Sitka spruce top, and then continues up the fretboard. The 300 Series is truly the         performer’s workhorse, combining technology and &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;craftsmanship with understated style.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;!-- google_ad_section_start --&gt;This is Taylor - the love of my life... as moderate materialism will allow.  She is my curvaceous Taylor that sings beautifully.&lt;!-- google_ad_section_end --&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone once said... the&lt;!-- google_ad_section_start --&gt; instrument has to be greater than the musician.  It has to be far greater so that the musician can always aspire to get better and use the instrument to its fullest.&lt;!-- google_ad_section_end --&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps this is just an excuse to spend $&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at worship practice today and one of her strings broke.... what a harrowing ordeal it turned out to be.  You see, she is young, naive and thinks very highly of herself.  Thinks she is the &lt;!-- google_ad_section_start --&gt;most beautiful guitar in the world.&lt;!-- google_ad_section_end --&gt;  And very picky and fickle she is - high maintenance you can say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was winding up the &lt;!-- google_ad_section_start --&gt;new string, lo and behold, the string BREAKS!&lt;br /&gt;So I try again with another new string and the same shocking result, the string breaks.&lt;!-- google_ad_section_end --&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;...she is trying to tell me something...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realized that I accidentally put the wrong gauge string on the guitar.&lt;br /&gt;Finding the correct gauge string, I proceed to wind up ... then SNAP!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;...she is just getting back at me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;The unthinkable...  I broke 4 guitar string today.  And the worst part is, I have the horrible sound of the string snapping still in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being a &lt;!-- google_ad_section_start --&gt;new guitar, I guess one of the metal edges may be sharp and causing the strings to break.&lt;!-- google_ad_section_end --&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think she is mad at me...  But I'm not sure&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is that bad??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;&lt;!--
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~4/TVrgLsRuewM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hmpark.blogspot.com/feeds/4364199207765950272/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1981203242120879969&amp;postID=4364199207765950272" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/4364199207765950272?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1981203242120879969/posts/default/4364199207765950272?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IntrospectionContemplationIdeals/~3/TVrgLsRuewM/ouch-for-taylor.html" title="Ouch! for Taylor" /><author><name>hm park</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12182015661093940711</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnYXcUl1f3I/AAAAAAAAABA/7LzBar7wmxU/s200/HM.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://bp2.blogger.com/_cbvIVTVz3JM/RnE_Skl1fzI/AAAAAAAAAAc/aWfopf6hAQg/s72-c/310ce-1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hmpark.blogspot.com/2007/06/ouch-for-taylor.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

