Once she had a dream lover. She would lay in his arms all night long, feeling safer than she had during most of her life. She thought at times, it would be nice if he had a zipper running the length of his body. There was a good deal of comfort to be derived from the idea of climbing into him, and zipping him up with her inside, hidden from the world. The world is a dangerous place in the best of times, and deadly in the worst.
Of course she was crazy.
That was a frequent judgment.
She was adjudged to be amoral a few times too, by quizzes applied through several authoritative online sites laden with expert analysts for the benefit of hungering masses in quest of an answer as to who they actually are.
Armchair psychologists and dilatants plastered to television sets, tend to enjoy these sites.
The experts gave their opinions which nothing could sway. They were based on ironclad courses taught at various universities noted for their pompous conspicuously moral wisdom-dispensing professors.
It seemed a feather in her cap to be amoral. It meant she was running against the odds, since the “average” were generally moral according to the rules.
Morality in her opinion, amounted to a collection of regulations laid down by the elite for their own convenience. Therefore, to be amoral was to shake free of them and their iron fists.
She thought there should be something for everyone...many sets of rules, without religion connected to them.
The word regulations had too militant a connotation for comfort.
She thought religion tended to complicate things unnecessarily. An entire collection of esoteric regulations plagued many religions. Far too many regulations would need to be remembered if they involved religion too. Also, people sometimes killed each other because of conflicting attitudes stemming from religion. So perhaps it was best to keep religion and guns separate from each other.
Guns would be secular in their nature.
Therefore, all rules laid down outside of religion, should never contain even a whiff of sectarianism.
There was one universally applicable rule everyone would have to obey. Just one: Only the most reasonable and responsible secular leaders could have anything to do with guns.
They would be very reluctant to kill anyone, since everyone obeyed their own rules; there was little, if any, major discord. Eventually they would realize how stupid it was to have guns, but never shoot at anything. So why bother to have them?
Of course though, she was crazy.
In thinking it out on a deeper level, if there were too many sets of rules, anarchy might ensue.
Anarchy seemed so exhausting.
The zippered man was her best idea in the long-run.
February 15, 2007
A. Murray
Friday, February 16, 2007
Friday, February 09, 2007
Bertha, Ella, Sid, and the little green apples...
a peculiar little tail.
Bertha shoved the broom across the kitchen floor, muttering to herself, "damn filthy little bastids, makes me want to squash their little heads with the heel of my boot…"
The mouse sat in the entryway of his apartment complex, whiskers twitching, eyes shining like new shoe buttons, and ears turned to the sound the giant was making.
The mouse spoke minimal English, but enough to get by on. He was hungry and tired. He'd been travelling for days to get to the place where he would spend the winter this year. The last house was drafty and immaculately clean. He'd caught a cold at Thanksgiving, and kept it until spring. And because of perverse hygiene on the part of the farmer's wife, he'd nearly starved to death during his stay there, emerging a mere shadow of his former self. He shuddered to think about it now.
A vicious swipe of the broom too close to the molding nearly knocked him off his feet. Considering this to be a portent of doom, his own in fact, he decided to crawl back into bed for a little nap. It was early, and dinner wasn't on the table until some time around five-thirty. There was plenty of time to rest before the job of harvesting from the floor, where some of his favored delicacies were generally plentiful, thanks to the smaller giants who ate there on occasion.
He understood the salient points of the conversation the giant was having with herself, and it's not so underlying rage, was enough to breed caution even within such an adventurous soul as he. So he turned, and to his undying regret, missed the most interesting thing of the day. He heard about it later, but would have given an especially fine whisker to have seen it first-hand
All in all however, at that moment, life was good again. At last….
"Next time I catch them little rats thrown' food across the room, I'm gonna break an arm first, and answer questions later…spoiled little crap-heads, killin's too good fer 'em."
A disembodied voice floated near enough to halt Bertha's fury laden diatribe. "What on earth are you nattering about Bertha? Milk gone sour again? Sorry if it is, I can never get those damn incantations right."
The disembodied voice grew nearer…the house was so cavernous, it was an echo chamber. Whispered conversations could be eavesdropped upon conveniently from what seemed like miles away if one was aware of all the strategic positions for doing so. The speaker was.
Bertha managed to pull her act together with effort. She wasn't in the mood for the "lady" of the house. Last night had been terrible; and she was tired, hungry, perplexed, and crotchety.
The voice drew nearer.
"So what's wrong today Bertha?"
"Nothing special Missus, just them kids hurlin' food across the room like it was a game a that Frisbee stuff instead a supper…little savages…. At least a damn Frisbee thing is made outta plastic and it don't shed crumbs an' muck all over the damn place."
"Ah, is that all? I thought a spell I was trying out last night had backfired again."
The disembodied voice became full bodied and astonishing in it's appearance. Bertha did her best to act tactfully, and disallowed her jaw to drop in an impolite rube-like manner.
The "Lady" of the house was standing in the doorway with the usual disreputable plaid bathrobe gaping open to reveal one of a collection of the worst nightgowns Bertha had seen before coming to the Big House as a charwoman/raving lunatic/superstitious native, and half-assed friend. Floppy slippers adorned large feet, which were also encased in purple socks. The entire costume shrieked "BAD FASHION SENSE".
But that wasn't the cause of Bertha's jaw struggling with gravity. It was the hair.
It was green, and huge…like a gigantic fern that had grown from the top of the woman's head.
"Oh good lord," Bertha said to herself. "The poor thing."
"What was ya tryin' last night", she asked tentatively.
"Eggnog."
"Oh, of course, eggnog." Bertha couldn't tear her gaze away from the apparition standing in front of her.
Ella, for that was her name, reached up as though to fluff the atrocity, but instead whipped it off her head, much to Bertha's relief, and shook it like a recalcitrant fuzzy animal.
"Dynel," she said, giving it another vigorous shake. "Wash and wear! Don't you just love it?"
"Well, it's certainly differnt," Bertha stated, with as much diplomacy as she could muster on short order. "D'ye you care for a cuppa tea now? I feel the need a one myself at this very moment." With that, she turned toward the kitchen, and to the safety of sane company.
Sid sat in the Kitchen window seat, moodily staring out at the landscape stretched endlessly before him. He noted with horror that every tree within his view was full of lovely little green apples. This would have been wonderful if they had been apple trees. Alas, they were not.
"Uccccmmmpphhh", he sighed, shaking his head with a certain weariness that bespoke of long practice at it, as he wondered aloud, "What in hell did she do THIS for? I can't leave her alone for a single evening without coming back to yet another bloody fiasco. The woman needs to be kept on a leash. A short one at that!"
He bent to wash his tail, which usually restored his spirits, and increased his pleasure in contemplating the fresh bagel sitting on the table, waiting to be devoured by the she-beast, which was how he was perceiving Ella at the moment.
Dropping nimbly down from the window seat, he meandered across the kitchen, and jumped up onto the table. Ah, good…the bagel was still warm. He gripped it in his teeth, then leaped off the table, and dragged it to his favorite rug in front of the fireplace. There was never a better breakfast in any kingdom, than a fresh toasted bagel with cream cheese.
Bertha clumped into the kitchen. " 'Mornin' Mister Sid," cuppa tea?"
"Why yes Bertha, that would be nice." Sid licked cream cheese off a paw, then said with the sarcastic chuckle that had become ingrown over time when discussing Ella's fiascoes, "I assume Bertha, you are aware there are green apples growing on the blue spruce, the oak, the maple, and every other damned kind of tree for miles around this misbegotten village…that is since you did walk here from your home, and had to have noticed…"
"Oh yes Mister Sid, I noticed indeed."
"So tell me Bertha, have you a clue as to what she was up to?" Sid sat looking at Bertha as though she had all the mysteries of this complex corner of the universe, tucked under her bandana, waiting for her to whip out the answers to life's most perplexing questions, no matter what they were about.
"Eggnog."
"Ah! Eggnog. Of course I should have known. How silly of me. She's up and about I assume?"
"Yes Mister Sid, and headed this way," Bertha said, eyeing Ella's half-eaten bagel on the rug beside the scraggly long bodied cat.
Sighing in resignation at the inevitable screaming match about to begin, she set about preparing tea.
September 27, 2004
Bertha shoved the broom across the kitchen floor, muttering to herself, "damn filthy little bastids, makes me want to squash their little heads with the heel of my boot…"
The mouse sat in the entryway of his apartment complex, whiskers twitching, eyes shining like new shoe buttons, and ears turned to the sound the giant was making.
The mouse spoke minimal English, but enough to get by on. He was hungry and tired. He'd been travelling for days to get to the place where he would spend the winter this year. The last house was drafty and immaculately clean. He'd caught a cold at Thanksgiving, and kept it until spring. And because of perverse hygiene on the part of the farmer's wife, he'd nearly starved to death during his stay there, emerging a mere shadow of his former self. He shuddered to think about it now.
A vicious swipe of the broom too close to the molding nearly knocked him off his feet. Considering this to be a portent of doom, his own in fact, he decided to crawl back into bed for a little nap. It was early, and dinner wasn't on the table until some time around five-thirty. There was plenty of time to rest before the job of harvesting from the floor, where some of his favored delicacies were generally plentiful, thanks to the smaller giants who ate there on occasion.
He understood the salient points of the conversation the giant was having with herself, and it's not so underlying rage, was enough to breed caution even within such an adventurous soul as he. So he turned, and to his undying regret, missed the most interesting thing of the day. He heard about it later, but would have given an especially fine whisker to have seen it first-hand
All in all however, at that moment, life was good again. At last….
"Next time I catch them little rats thrown' food across the room, I'm gonna break an arm first, and answer questions later…spoiled little crap-heads, killin's too good fer 'em."
A disembodied voice floated near enough to halt Bertha's fury laden diatribe. "What on earth are you nattering about Bertha? Milk gone sour again? Sorry if it is, I can never get those damn incantations right."
The disembodied voice grew nearer…the house was so cavernous, it was an echo chamber. Whispered conversations could be eavesdropped upon conveniently from what seemed like miles away if one was aware of all the strategic positions for doing so. The speaker was.
Bertha managed to pull her act together with effort. She wasn't in the mood for the "lady" of the house. Last night had been terrible; and she was tired, hungry, perplexed, and crotchety.
The voice drew nearer.
"So what's wrong today Bertha?"
"Nothing special Missus, just them kids hurlin' food across the room like it was a game a that Frisbee stuff instead a supper…little savages…. At least a damn Frisbee thing is made outta plastic and it don't shed crumbs an' muck all over the damn place."
"Ah, is that all? I thought a spell I was trying out last night had backfired again."
The disembodied voice became full bodied and astonishing in it's appearance. Bertha did her best to act tactfully, and disallowed her jaw to drop in an impolite rube-like manner.
The "Lady" of the house was standing in the doorway with the usual disreputable plaid bathrobe gaping open to reveal one of a collection of the worst nightgowns Bertha had seen before coming to the Big House as a charwoman/raving lunatic/superstitious native, and half-assed friend. Floppy slippers adorned large feet, which were also encased in purple socks. The entire costume shrieked "BAD FASHION SENSE".
But that wasn't the cause of Bertha's jaw struggling with gravity. It was the hair.
It was green, and huge…like a gigantic fern that had grown from the top of the woman's head.
"Oh good lord," Bertha said to herself. "The poor thing."
"What was ya tryin' last night", she asked tentatively.
"Eggnog."
"Oh, of course, eggnog." Bertha couldn't tear her gaze away from the apparition standing in front of her.
Ella, for that was her name, reached up as though to fluff the atrocity, but instead whipped it off her head, much to Bertha's relief, and shook it like a recalcitrant fuzzy animal.
"Dynel," she said, giving it another vigorous shake. "Wash and wear! Don't you just love it?"
"Well, it's certainly differnt," Bertha stated, with as much diplomacy as she could muster on short order. "D'ye you care for a cuppa tea now? I feel the need a one myself at this very moment." With that, she turned toward the kitchen, and to the safety of sane company.
Sid sat in the Kitchen window seat, moodily staring out at the landscape stretched endlessly before him. He noted with horror that every tree within his view was full of lovely little green apples. This would have been wonderful if they had been apple trees. Alas, they were not.
"Uccccmmmpphhh", he sighed, shaking his head with a certain weariness that bespoke of long practice at it, as he wondered aloud, "What in hell did she do THIS for? I can't leave her alone for a single evening without coming back to yet another bloody fiasco. The woman needs to be kept on a leash. A short one at that!"
He bent to wash his tail, which usually restored his spirits, and increased his pleasure in contemplating the fresh bagel sitting on the table, waiting to be devoured by the she-beast, which was how he was perceiving Ella at the moment.
Dropping nimbly down from the window seat, he meandered across the kitchen, and jumped up onto the table. Ah, good…the bagel was still warm. He gripped it in his teeth, then leaped off the table, and dragged it to his favorite rug in front of the fireplace. There was never a better breakfast in any kingdom, than a fresh toasted bagel with cream cheese.
Bertha clumped into the kitchen. " 'Mornin' Mister Sid," cuppa tea?"
"Why yes Bertha, that would be nice." Sid licked cream cheese off a paw, then said with the sarcastic chuckle that had become ingrown over time when discussing Ella's fiascoes, "I assume Bertha, you are aware there are green apples growing on the blue spruce, the oak, the maple, and every other damned kind of tree for miles around this misbegotten village…that is since you did walk here from your home, and had to have noticed…"
"Oh yes Mister Sid, I noticed indeed."
"So tell me Bertha, have you a clue as to what she was up to?" Sid sat looking at Bertha as though she had all the mysteries of this complex corner of the universe, tucked under her bandana, waiting for her to whip out the answers to life's most perplexing questions, no matter what they were about.
"Eggnog."
"Ah! Eggnog. Of course I should have known. How silly of me. She's up and about I assume?"
"Yes Mister Sid, and headed this way," Bertha said, eyeing Ella's half-eaten bagel on the rug beside the scraggly long bodied cat.
Sighing in resignation at the inevitable screaming match about to begin, she set about preparing tea.
September 27, 2004
One of the worst old stoner jokes
so why am I laughing?
The Monkey and The Lizard
A monkey is sitting in a tree smoking a joint when a lizard walks past and looks up and says to the monkey, "hey! what are you doing?"
The monkey says "smoking a joint, come up and have some."
So the lizard climbs up and sits next to the monkey and they have a few hits.
After a while the lizard says his mouth is dry and is going to get a drink from the river. The lizard is so stoned that he leans too far over and falls into the river.
A Crocodile sees this and swims over to the lizard and helps him to the side, then asks the lizard, "what's the matter with you?"
The lizard explains to the crocodile that he was sitting smoking a joint with the monkey in the tree, got so stoned he fell into the riverwhile taking a drink.
The crocodile says he has to check this out and walks into the jungle, finds the tree were the monkey is sitting, finishing the joint. He looks up and says, "hey!"
The Monkey looks down and says, "man, just how damn much water did you drink?"
The Monkey and The Lizard
A monkey is sitting in a tree smoking a joint when a lizard walks past and looks up and says to the monkey, "hey! what are you doing?"
The monkey says "smoking a joint, come up and have some."
So the lizard climbs up and sits next to the monkey and they have a few hits.
After a while the lizard says his mouth is dry and is going to get a drink from the river. The lizard is so stoned that he leans too far over and falls into the river.
A Crocodile sees this and swims over to the lizard and helps him to the side, then asks the lizard, "what's the matter with you?"
The lizard explains to the crocodile that he was sitting smoking a joint with the monkey in the tree, got so stoned he fell into the riverwhile taking a drink.
The crocodile says he has to check this out and walks into the jungle, finds the tree were the monkey is sitting, finishing the joint. He looks up and says, "hey!"
The Monkey looks down and says, "man, just how damn much water did you drink?"
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Oh Ji Ho - Objecitfied
Oh Ji Ho is a prime example of objectification. His face, which is his fortune on one hand, becomes a liability on the other. It is thought by some, that were he less attractive to women, he would garner roles of a more varied nature. His last vehicle produced in Korea, Couple of Fantasy, clearly displays his capacity for comedy, a thing that has been demonstrated time and time again.
His capacity for portraying sadness, even desperation, has been amply demonstrated in the movie La Belle, and in A Second Proposal, a basically comedic role that evolves into one of a far more serious nature, and shows another side of him entirely when he discovers to his surprise that he loves a woman who does not return his feelings. His performance was heartbreaking.
Unfortunately though, when a very handsome man might pull an otherwise sluggish plot across the finish line, he's often the one. He has name recognition among women as a sexy looking drama idol, and acts as an audience magnet, which is unfair to him, and does nothing to further his reputation as a good solid actor. He's had some poor direction in the past. The audience tends to put the blame for that squarely on the shoulders of the actor. All they take away from viewing a bad piece of work, is his indelible physical image in their minds. He becomes an object.
Recently, the American actor Leonardo DiCaprio complained in an article about having been objectified as a result of his role in the film Titanic.
I quote here from that article of January 23, 2007
(Original source: Newsweek)
“Leonardo DiCaprio wanted to give up acting for a time after the hit movie "Titanic." DiCaprio was back to being considered "another piece of cute meat" after the 1997 film's spectacular box office success, an image he had wanted to get away from after his days on the cover of teen magazines, he tells Newsweek in this week's edition.”
‘"It was pretty disheartening to be objectified like that. I wanted to stop acting for a little bit,"’ he said at the magazine's Oscar panel discussion with other actors. ‘"It changed my life in a lot of ways, but at the same time, I can't say that it didn't give me opportunities. It made me, for the first time, in control of my career."’ But after many successful movies and critical acclaim, DiCaprio said he loves acting.
‘"There's no other art form in the world that affects me more. There's nothing that I walk away from feeling transformed by, the way I do with cinema,"’ he said.”
Oh Ji Ho is not as famous as DiCaprio, but they have shared a similar phenomenon in both having been objectified.
DiCaprio, who is only two years older than Oh Ji Ho, but a thousand miles farther ahead in his career, is no longer an object, no longer a teen idol. He has outlived that phase, and is now seen as person of stature.
But Oh Ji Ho, at the age if thirty is still, “another piece of cute meat” and worse than that, he’s ever more objectified. He is a Sex God, A Hunk, Gorgeous, Hottt, Hawttt, and even described tastelessly as “meat” at one unnamed site.
He has become the object of a sex fantasies, and his humanity has taken a back-seat to desire, to lascivious fascination, to wishful thinking. Even more than DiCaprio ever was, Oh Ji Ho has become an object without a mind, without a soul, without sorrow, without longing, without loyalties, without a tired back after long hard days, or burning eyes after being fried under the stage lighting, having troubled sleep because there isn’t enough of it, feeling hunger or cold, having worries, responsibilities, family obligations… Do I really need to go on?
It wearies this writer to see all the shallow perceptions across the screen as they pop out time and time again. The depersonalized object, like a doll, a toy there only for a moment of amusement, of titillation, and left behind until the next time he comes up somewhere.
This is a human being. First, last and always, he is a human being. He has embraced acting, it is what he wants, and maybe, needs to do. There are some people who have a fire within themselves that brings them to a place in life they love. DiCaprio says, “There's no other art form in the world that affects me more. There's nothing that I walk away from feeling transformed by, the way I do with cinema…"
It’s hard to imagine that Oh Ji Ho feels any less fulfilled than Leonardo DiCaprio, when his own work is done, and he has completed a project that lasted days, weeks, or months.
When he retires to the privacy of his home, what exists that says he doesn’t celebrate in his mind, in his soul; the joy afforded him by doing this labor he loves? And who is to say that he does not reflect on his good fortune to be a part of this; to be an actor, or entertainer on whatever screen or stage he happens to be occupying at that time?
Only the objectifiers, who never look beyond a face, never look beyond a body, never see the whole person they rob of identity, every time they refuse to see a complete human being.
It might be asked how they would feel to be looked at as only breasts, or hips, or thighs, as impersonally as one would look at chicken parts in a grocery store, while assessing their edibility. Like meat.
NOTE
Oh Ji Ho's situation has not changed in just a few days (see commentary below). His career is in jeopardy, he is also dealing with the loss of his companion, and with the gossip and ugliness certain types enjoy spreading via the Internet.
If you wish to send a card or note of encouragement and support to Oh Ji Ho, please click here. Request the address through the contact button.
Hyacinth
A man at his work. Top: Reading script for Super Rookie. Bottom: At a script reading for Couple of Fantasy.
His capacity for portraying sadness, even desperation, has been amply demonstrated in the movie La Belle, and in A Second Proposal, a basically comedic role that evolves into one of a far more serious nature, and shows another side of him entirely when he discovers to his surprise that he loves a woman who does not return his feelings. His performance was heartbreaking.
Unfortunately though, when a very handsome man might pull an otherwise sluggish plot across the finish line, he's often the one. He has name recognition among women as a sexy looking drama idol, and acts as an audience magnet, which is unfair to him, and does nothing to further his reputation as a good solid actor. He's had some poor direction in the past. The audience tends to put the blame for that squarely on the shoulders of the actor. All they take away from viewing a bad piece of work, is his indelible physical image in their minds. He becomes an object.
Recently, the American actor Leonardo DiCaprio complained in an article about having been objectified as a result of his role in the film Titanic.
I quote here from that article of January 23, 2007
(Original source: Newsweek)
“Leonardo DiCaprio wanted to give up acting for a time after the hit movie "Titanic." DiCaprio was back to being considered "another piece of cute meat" after the 1997 film's spectacular box office success, an image he had wanted to get away from after his days on the cover of teen magazines, he tells Newsweek in this week's edition.”
‘"It was pretty disheartening to be objectified like that. I wanted to stop acting for a little bit,"’ he said at the magazine's Oscar panel discussion with other actors. ‘"It changed my life in a lot of ways, but at the same time, I can't say that it didn't give me opportunities. It made me, for the first time, in control of my career."’ But after many successful movies and critical acclaim, DiCaprio said he loves acting.
‘"There's no other art form in the world that affects me more. There's nothing that I walk away from feeling transformed by, the way I do with cinema,"’ he said.”
Oh Ji Ho is not as famous as DiCaprio, but they have shared a similar phenomenon in both having been objectified.
DiCaprio, who is only two years older than Oh Ji Ho, but a thousand miles farther ahead in his career, is no longer an object, no longer a teen idol. He has outlived that phase, and is now seen as person of stature.
But Oh Ji Ho, at the age if thirty is still, “another piece of cute meat” and worse than that, he’s ever more objectified. He is a Sex God, A Hunk, Gorgeous, Hottt, Hawttt, and even described tastelessly as “meat” at one unnamed site.
He has become the object of a sex fantasies, and his humanity has taken a back-seat to desire, to lascivious fascination, to wishful thinking. Even more than DiCaprio ever was, Oh Ji Ho has become an object without a mind, without a soul, without sorrow, without longing, without loyalties, without a tired back after long hard days, or burning eyes after being fried under the stage lighting, having troubled sleep because there isn’t enough of it, feeling hunger or cold, having worries, responsibilities, family obligations… Do I really need to go on?
It wearies this writer to see all the shallow perceptions across the screen as they pop out time and time again. The depersonalized object, like a doll, a toy there only for a moment of amusement, of titillation, and left behind until the next time he comes up somewhere.
This is a human being. First, last and always, he is a human being. He has embraced acting, it is what he wants, and maybe, needs to do. There are some people who have a fire within themselves that brings them to a place in life they love. DiCaprio says, “There's no other art form in the world that affects me more. There's nothing that I walk away from feeling transformed by, the way I do with cinema…"
It’s hard to imagine that Oh Ji Ho feels any less fulfilled than Leonardo DiCaprio, when his own work is done, and he has completed a project that lasted days, weeks, or months.
When he retires to the privacy of his home, what exists that says he doesn’t celebrate in his mind, in his soul; the joy afforded him by doing this labor he loves? And who is to say that he does not reflect on his good fortune to be a part of this; to be an actor, or entertainer on whatever screen or stage he happens to be occupying at that time?
Only the objectifiers, who never look beyond a face, never look beyond a body, never see the whole person they rob of identity, every time they refuse to see a complete human being.
It might be asked how they would feel to be looked at as only breasts, or hips, or thighs, as impersonally as one would look at chicken parts in a grocery store, while assessing their edibility. Like meat.
NOTE
Oh Ji Ho's situation has not changed in just a few days (see commentary below). His career is in jeopardy, he is also dealing with the loss of his companion, and with the gossip and ugliness certain types enjoy spreading via the Internet.
If you wish to send a card or note of encouragement and support to Oh Ji Ho, please click here. Request the address through the contact button.
Hyacinth
A man at his work. Top: Reading script for Super Rookie. Bottom: At a script reading for Couple of Fantasy.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Oh Ji Ho and the Korean Caste System
Note: Oh Ji Ho is a Korean actor who has recently achieved much deserved acclaim in his country for his role in a TV romantic comedy/drama titled, Fantasy Couple, or at times referred to as Couple of Fantasy.
Asian movies and dramas have a certain liquidity when it comes to titles, an aspect that can be both frustrating and amusing.
I am a hard core fan of Oh Ji Ho's, so, when the news broke in The Korean Times, that his woman friend and companion had committed suicide, I was horrified at the tone of the article by staff reporter,Chung Ah-young, and the often ugly response of the Korean public.
In the blogs that I publish having to do with Asian film/drama, I do not post the link to the article. It has already achieved it's purpose in slandering a newly, and vastly popular actor, who has been working hard at his craft for more than the seven years the author, Chung Ah-young, cedits him with.
Link to the article.
Here then, is a take on...
Oh Ji Ho and the Korean Caste System
"Judging from the many hits I’ve had here at the site, I feel it safe to assume the word about Oh Ji Ho’s companion committing suicide has hit the fan, and everyone wants to hear all about it.
"I probably know as much about it as you do, but do you know…?
"Korea has a distinct caste system, although they are loath to call it that. Instead they excuse it by calling it tradition. I have despised it since I became aware of it, and I don’t excuse it on any grounds.
"There was an amusing piece about K-Dramas posted at K-PopVideo recently. I thought it was pretty funny and close to the bone, so I posted it at The Hyacinth Papers.
"Yes, it’s funny, but, there is something unfunny about the nasty truth it reveals.
"Exerpts:
8. When someone hits a subordinate, it is always on the head, and most often across the back of the head.
"My note: why feel so free to hit a subordinate?
9. The wealthy have contempt for those without, and those on the lower rungs kiss the feet of their superiors. Korean society treats the wealthy and the poor completely differently.
"This applies to those public figures that have achieved fame also. And it is a very powerful force in the culture of Korea, and within families where the bludgeon of guilt is useful.
"If a family doesn’t want a son or daughter to marry someone they don’t feel fits their idea of ‘correct’ in terms of status, for one thing, the marriage is almost impossible to achieve. (See My Lovely Km, Sam-soon for the perfect example, or if you can stomach it, see Memories of Bali, an unfunny terrible story of family, business, and propriety according to the omnipotent parents who lean on custom like a crutch, and wield it like a club, in order to control, and incidentally destroy, their younger son who loves a ‘common’ girl. Nobody wins in that one.
"Oh Ji Ho is a victim of this societal structure, this caste system. He is a Korean. He was raised with the customs, and has evidently buckled under their weight. You have to have seen Memories of Bali to appreciate just how intense that weight can be. It is The Irresistible Force.
"You have no doubt seen the news coverage regarding Oh Ji Ho. In a sense, it makes him look so guilty because he lied.
"Guilty of what? Self protection?
"Yes, he did not tell all when the news first leaked out. His career is in jeopardy now, and in fact it may already be in ruins because this unhappy woman killed herself, and initially he denied being involved with her.
"According to some articles I’ve come upon in a very conservative online version of the news(The Korea Herald), suicide has become almost a national pastime. I just typed the words korea suicides into Google, and got 1, 800,000 entries to choose from. It seems to have become the awful solution for so many woes.
"When I view this situation in that light I see it from a perspective that is very saddening, but also more understandable. I have trouble with Oh Ji Ho’s denial, but I also have a real problem regarding doubtless extreme blame that will be launched at him from so many sides.
"The bottom line is this though: This young woman made a choice. She took her own life. She was not murdered. She killed herself.
"I am not romantic enough to believe that love is something you kill yourself over.
"In my country, it would be viewed as a tragedy for all involved, definitely including Oh Ji Ho. He would be supported by those who care about him. He would very likely not be dumped alongside a cliff because he has become a financial liability. Actually, here he would not become one. We are not as a nation, so full of self-righteousness.
"He will feel guilt for the rest of his life because the culture has failed him as it has so many others. It has formed him; it has overburdened him with obligations to a skewed societal structure. The woman was a bar hostess. So what? If he loved her here, they'd be left alone to live their lives and flourish. That's called Democracy.
"The Korean culture creates people who are driven to be successful from the first minute they enter school. They are obligated the second they are born. Bucking up against the parental, scholastic, employer related, public related wall of demanded obedience to that society is to crash and burn.
"It will be easy for some to say things about him that are damaging to him because they have an image of this man that is not accurate in the least. It is a dream.
"He is imagined to be a hero of some sort. He is imagined to be a great lover. He is fantasized about as the rescuer who will ride in and take many women away from their drab lives. He is envisioned as a prospective husband to thousands of wishers.
"He is none of these things.
"He is human. He has his failures and flaws of personality. He has weakness and fear within himself. He is, simply put, just like me. And if you are honest with yourself, just like you too.
"I will continue to support him, and I will continue to give all my heart over to understanding the entire thing with clarity, and good judgment.
"There is a song sung by Tom Rush from a long time ago. One line always stands out in my mind. It is, “Don’t confront me with my failures, I’ve not forgotten them.” Right.
"And just before you say, “I would never have done what he did”, remember this: never is a long time, and you don’t know what’s around the corner."
Hyacinth
Posted at the Oh Ji Ho website
If you wish to support Mr. Oh as an actor with a right to continue his career in peace, and hopefully, prosperity, you are requested to send cards or short notes of encouragement to Mr. Oh. See the site dedicated to him for details.
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