Author: Josh Philip Ross

Daniel McKleinfeld has pointed me to a fascinating (and vast) collection of photos of North Korea, taken by one Artemii Lebedev, a web designer from Russia. (Note that at the bottom of the page, you can click through to subsequent pages of pictures.)

These images give a good overall sense of the bleakness of North Korea, which seems to alternate between gargantuan grandiosity and numbing shoddiness. The image above is a perfect example of the inhuman scale of North Korean monumentalism, which seems intended to make you feel very, very small and powerless.

Also startling is how bare everything looks without advertising. There is essentially no individual or non-state corporate expression on display anywhere in any form.

In the end, though, I think what the photos reveal most clearly is how well concealed North Korea really is. We see almost no one and get no feel for what North Korean life might actually be like. This is all that tourists are permitted to see and photograph, and though it’s possible to see the many cracks in the Potemkin nation, it’s still impossible to see behind the crumbling sets.

Living in New York City, it can sometimes feel like the struggle for control of Washington happens far away: in states like Ohio and Florida, in competitive districts Upstate, in races around the country in places where you actually meet people who support the Republican party. Knocking on doors and handing out literature around these parts seems largely irrelevant.

So I was surprised to get an email today from the Congressional campaign of Steve Harrison, a Bay Ridge lawyer who is looking to take the 13th District, which covers Staten Island and Bay Ridge, away from one of the most conservative Republican representatives in the Northeast, Vito Fossella. I know almost nothing about Harrison, but I know he’s a Democrat and that his victory would rid Congress of a right-wing extremist and move us one seat closer to Democratic control.

This is not the other side of the country, folks. This is right here in Brooklyn and Staten Island. If we can give time or money to Harrison, I think we should. Let’s see if we can win one for our side right here in NYC.

Topic: Music

Hey Govind Hey Gopal by Jagjit Singh (Vaishnodevi website)

Govinda by The Radha Krsna Temple (The Rada Krsna Temple)

Govinda by Kula Shaker (K)

Whatever you think of the blue god of India and his devotees, you have to admit that he’s inspired a lot of music.

Today we’ve got three selections in praise of Krishna in his Govinda, or “cow-protector,” manifestation. The first, by the renowned ghazal and playback singer Jagjit Singh, is pretty much your typical Hindu devotional song in the popular style.

Next up is The Radha Krsna Temple, a recording made at Apple Studios in 1970 and produced by George Harrison, who was then deep into the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKON), whose penchant for child abuse was not yet known. You can find the whole album here, including the hit “Hare Krsna Mantra.”

And finally we have a relatively recent rock devotional from Kula Shaker, who had a hit back in the 1990s with “Tattva.”

I tend to find Krishna devotees a difficult bunch, but I really like all three of these songs.

Topic: Personal

I’ve been very busy lately, it seems, and I haven’t had much time to update Palaverist. So I thought I’d spend a little time jotting down what’s been going on with me lately. For one thing, there have been parties, starting with the McKleinfeld wedding and seemingly continuing ever since, at least on the weekends, and sometimes on the weekdays.

After the multiday extravaganza that was the McKleinfeld wedding, the newlyweds spent the next week still up in the Adirondacks, but returned in time to be informed by Twin A that they would be hosting his Memorial Day barbecue on Monday afternoon. This followed a very late night of Lord of the Rings Risk with the McKleinfelds, which followed a late night of drinking with Robert and Lydia Ooghe and Josh Axelrad. We started that night in the garden behind Frankies 457 Sputino — great cocktails — and eventually wandered up the block to P.J. Hanley’s, which claims to be the oldest bar in Brooklyn. When the waitress took our order, Axelrad ended his with “God bless,” which made me fall over laughing. “Yeah?” Axelrad said. “I thought I’d try it out. How’d it sound?”

“Ridiculous,” I said, “coming from a godless heathen like yourself.”

The next weekend, the McKleinfelds held yet another party, this one to celebrate their nuptials with those who couldn’t make it Upstate. There was an evil sangria, the not entirely unwelcome news that Daniel had just been laid off, a complex network of blue tarps to keep off the rain that threatened and spattered all afternoon, and the first game of silent football in many moons, played around a kiddie pool for our feet and ruled by Twin B in the role of Brother Dictator.

A mere three days later, I saw many of the same people at a 6/6/06 party hosted by Robert and his friend the Talmudist Jay Michaelson in the apartment upstairs — and on the roof. There was a kosher grill, and somehow Martin Dockery got his dog up there. It being a Tuesday, I didn’t stay late.

On Friday, our German friend Beatrice came over, along with Lem, to watch the first game of the World Cup (Germany won). For once, our Saturday was free of parties, but then on Sunday, Lem hosted a picnic in Prospect Park to thank us all for visiting him in the hospital. That evening, a group of us headed to Martin Dockery’s for a party on his roof deck, known as the Money Shot because of its incredible 360-degree views of Brooklyn, Manhattan and New York Harbor. We watched the sun set over Jersey and the moon rise full and orange over Prospect park as the air grew chilly, reminding me of summer evenings in Northern California, and I met a man named Master Lee who told me about performing kung fu comedy on a cruise ship much like the one that was moored off Red Hook and glowing in the night.

So now this week, I’ll be going to see three young Korean classical musicians — Yeol-eum Son, Hye-jin Kim and Min-ji Kim — perform at the ECOSOC Chamber in the UN, courtesy of the Korean Mission. Then on Friday night we’ll see Myung Soo Kim’s Arirang: Korean Ritual Solos, some kind of mudang-influenced dance performance. And on Saturday, we’ll be hosting Jenny’s birthday party. And Sunday? Korea vs. France, baby!

I’m glad we’re headed for Bar Harbor, Maine, on the 24th. Of course, as soon as we’re back, we’ll be having a party on the roof for July 4th. It’s busy, but it’s a whole lotta fun.

Topic: Personal

My younger brother Effie is in Tzfat at the moment (aka Safed), a small town in northern Israel known as a haven for Chassidim of a mystical bent. He’s there studying Talmud, and he’s put up a few pictures of himself and his friends there on his homepage. Enjoy.

Posted by: Josh
Pilseung Korea (필승 코리아) by Yoon Band

Da-Ga-Ra (다가라) by Uhm Jung-hwa (엄정화)

Youngnam Nong Ak by Kim Duk-Soo (김덕수) (Samul-Nori: Drums & Voices of Korea)

In the Konglish parlance of World Cup 2002, “Korea Whiting!” was a phrase you heard everywhere. They meant “Korea fighting!” but unfortunately the Hangul alphabet, lacking an equivalent to “f,” left them choosing between “p” (ㅍ) and “hw” (화). They opted for the latter, and so Korea was whiting its way through an ecstatic month of surprise victories that landed them in fourth place.

Well, World Cup is upon us again, and here at the Korean Mission, a huge TV has been set up in the library, and we have been invited to watch Korea’s first match, against Togo, at nine o’clock Monday morning, and instructed to wear red (I’ll have my Be the Reds! T-shirt on).

In honor of the games, I thought I’d put up a few tracks that take me back to the glory days of 2002. The first, “Pilseung Korea,” means “Victorious Korea,” and was pretty much the national anthem during World Cup 2002. “Da-Ga-Ra” is a fun little pop tune by a woman who seems to be known more as an actress than as a singer. It was a huge hit in ’02.

And finally, we have an example of samul nori (사물놀이), a Korean percussion music based on pungmul, or farmers’ music. As I wrote back in 2002,

Going into the [semifinal] game against Germany, my feelings were no longer ambiguous. Jenny and I went with Suky and her family to watch it on a big screen at the local middle school. I wore my “Be the Reds” T-shirt like everyone else — the T-shirt vendors are the real winners of this World Cup — and I cheered for Korea. At half-time the score was still 0-0, and the crowd around us reacted as if they knew this might be their last hurrah. Fireworks were everywhere, and a circle of dancers beat on drums and Korean cymbals. It was very foreign and very beautiful, and we were reminded once again that we are living in a culture that is not our own.

Tonight, it begins again. GO KOREA!

Topic: Politics

So it turns out that Congressman Major R. Owens of the 11th District (i.e., mine) is retiring at the end of his current term, and the district is very much in play. Of course, it’s not a contest between a Republican and a Democrat — you can be sure that come November 7, the 11th will go overwhelmingly for the Democratic candidate — but among Democrats at the primary election on September 12th.

I don’t know too much about the situation yet, but it’s still some ways away. There’s a useful, if slanted, Amsterdam News article. I expect that things will heat up in the coming months, especially considering how big a role race plays in this election. The 11th District was created in 1965 as part of the Voting Rights Act, and it has been held by African-Americans ever since. Councilman David Yassky, the candidate with the most money, is white, and possibly cozy with real estate developers who are driving the process of gentrification that is turning the 11th whiter. The other three candidates are African-American, but the question is whether they will split the African-American vote such that Yassky comes out the winner.

And who do I support? I have no idea at this point.

Here are the candidates’ websites:

• Carl Andrews for Congress
• Chris Owens for Congress
• David Yassky for Congress
• Yvette Clarke for Congress

Topic: Around Town

This Saturday and Sunday is the Atlantic Avenue ArtWalk 2006, “a self-guided tour of open artist studios and area exhibitions, a range of public art projects, special events, and extensive local merchant participation.” The tour is clustered along Atlantic Avenue between Third Avenue and Smith Street, but it stretches as far afield as State Street to the north (or Schermerhorn, if you count the Transit Museum, but visit that some other time), Hicks to the west and 423 Smith to the south (that’s at Fourth Place).

Remarkably, a quick glance at the list of artists suggests that there’s not much overlap with the Annual Gowanus Artists Studio Tour (AGAST), which I reviewed in some detail (1, 2). Whether I’ll do a similar number on ArtWalk06 remains to be seen. I’ve got plans Saturday, but I do hope to get out on Sunday and see some of the local art. Maybe I’ll bump into you there?

Topic: Around Town

Or round the neighborhood, anyway: the Mister Softee cone, that is. Today we mourn the passing of James Conway, Sr., the founder of the Mister Softee franchise. He and his partner built an empire of more than 600 trucks on the back of that godawful song (mp3). And did you know it has lyrics?

The CREAM-i-est DREAM-i-est SOFT ice CREAM
you GET from MIS-ter SOF-tee.
FOR a re-FRESH-ing de-LIGHT su-PREME
LOOK for MIS-ter SOF-tee….

I’m not sure if knowing the lyrics will make hearing the trucks better or worse, but I’m still relieved that at the start of a new summer, Mayor Bloomberg’s noise regulation compromise remains in effect: Mister Softee trucks can play their jingle while they drive, but they can’t park and play it, which is what they liked to do out in front of the Gowanus Projects across the street from our old apartment. For hours. Sometimes after 10 p.m.

RIP, Mr. Conway. Let’s hope you go to a heaven full of ice cream, not a hell of eternal exposure to that horrible, horrible ditty.

Topic: Personal

Lem is a friend of ours who recently had a bit of a breakdown, which resulted in his leaping from a third-floor window and landing on a staircase below, with seriously bad results for his knee and arm that put him in Bellevue Hospital for a while.

He went through a scary week of secondary infection and general awfulness, as well as detox from probably alcohol and maybe something else. We visited him after that, when he was woozy from morphine, and I saw him again a week later, when he’d just switched from a wheelchair to a cane. I was there with Todd and a German friend of Lem’s named Beatrice, and we had a bit of a party in his room. I loaned him our old laptop so he could write his thoughts.

The next day, on the advice of his psychiatrist at the hospital, Lem checked himself into the psych ward, which you apparently can’t just check back out of. He wrote a series of letters while in there, which were typed up by his mother (who has been with him most of the time, fortunately) and posted on the Polenblog (1, 2).

As our friend Erin pointed out in a comment on Lem’s final post, one thing people learn in such places is that the distinction between sane and in- is more a matter of appearance than of anything more concrete or absolute. This is more profound than it looks at first: sanity is not so much the ability to construct a coherent worldview or avoid believing silly things as it is the ability to interact with others in a way that they find coherent and comprehensible. That’s why radical artists, social outcasts and crazy people are so hard to distinguish, while people who believe in the Angel Moroni or Thetans or the resurrection of Jesus can be considered fully sane and functional.

This happens to be one of the areas where I think the Neo-Confucians are right. Building on the Buddhist doctrine of no-self (which works by positing a coherent self and then asking you to find and identify it and giggling while you fail), the Neo-Confucians defined the self in relation to others. You aren’t a coherent individual separate from those around you, but rather a father, a son, a brother, a lord or servant, a husband, etc. Each of these roles is distinct, and you only exist as a human being in society to the extent that you fulfill these roles.

So, to turn Sartre on his head, sanity is other people.

We look forward to seeing Lem again on the outside and welcoming him back into a circle of friends.