Thanksgiving musings

The following is a spatter of random thoughts that have gone through my head throughout the course of the holiday. I may or may not attempt to chronologically sort them when I’m done, as I’m pecking this out on my busted iPad.

The above picture is my wailing niece. I wanted to have some sort of visual to accompany this post.

This trip is the first time that I’ve brought my own car into the Commonwealth of Virginia in quite some time. The last time I drove my own car on my old stomping grounds was when I still had my old Nissan and I still felt it had the legs to make the trips from Atlanta to NOVA. Part of it is refreshing and fun to drive my own car on old familiar roads, but another part is apathetic and piteous of the residents of Virginia, whom have apparently been beaten into submission of driving like sissies in fear of the overzealous ticketing and fine system in place here. Safety is one thing, but the legions of people camping the left, passing lanes, going the approximate speed limit are bigger hazards to other motorists than the occasional tryhard going 88 mph, I would hypothesize.

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Derailing tradition, much to my dismay

Well, if I felt that my recent lack of angst and anxiety were reason for having difficulty finding things to write about, consider it my brog’s lucky day as both angst and anxiety have returned with but just a few mere phone calls with my family, to put me back in a state of mind where I want to vent to people around me, but don’t really want to burden anyone, so it turns into ultimately a great big vomiting of words onto whomever wishes to read them.

I won’t get into extensive detail, but I’ve made no secret about my parents getting divorced, and as much as I’d have hoped it would have been an amicable and clean separation, naturally it was and is not, and suddenly my plans over the Thanksgiving break that I had leisurely looked forward to have turned into a period of time in which I am basically dreading.

Why?  Because I’m going home for Thanksgiving.

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Ballparks: Danville, Virginia

It only took three years, but finally everything worked out as they should of, and I was able to make my long-awaited visit to sleepy Danville, Virginia, where I could get to see the Danville Braves rookie-level squad.

With Danville visited, I can now say that I’ve seen every single level of the Atlanta Braves minor league system, to which I am very pleased with.

Virginia is the worst place in the country to drive

Whatever a traffic sign estimates in Virginia, assume it to be double, for accuracy.

Typically, whenever I visit my old stomping grounds, I fly into whichever Northern Virginia airport has the most availability (usually DCA), and then I’m at the mercy of whomever is willing to give me rides or let me borrow cars, in order to do my business or get from point A to B on my own volition.

Over the span of the last year or so, be it for a myriad of circumstances, I’ve grown really weary over the notion of traveling in and out of the greater Washington D.C. area airports.  Old convention doesn’t seem to apply like it used to.  I honestly can’t remember the last time I had a trip where I didn’t get tragically locked in place in some leg of my trip.  Demand to or from D.C. is unpredictable and completely without logic, and I’ve had flights that looked open fill up at the drop of a hat due to weather, or some giant student group being unaccounted for until it was time to board the plane.

Needless to say, I took an opportunity to try something new during my last visit up to Virginia, because in theory it seemed like a very good idea: fly into Richmond, pick up rental car, drive to NOVA, Charlottesville, NOVA, Richmond, and leave from Richmond.  Richmond has direct flights to and from Atlanta, is a smaller airport with a smaller demand to and from Atlanta, and with a rental car, I wouldn’t have to inconvenience anyone for rides, or take time away from them.

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Preparing for the demise of Tysons Corner

Impetus: May 27, 2014 is the estimated date in which the DC Metro Silver Line opens up the route to Tysons Corner.

Knee-jerk reaction: May 27, 2014 is the estimated date in which Tysons Corner begins its new identity as the second coming of Springfield Mall.

In other words, this is, whether people realize it or not, terrible, terrible news for Tysons Corner, and the surrounding McLean area.  A lot of people don’t want to admit it, because it insinuates a hint of racial bias, profiling and other negative connotations, but the demise of Springfield Mall and the commercial death of all surrounding area coincides perfectly with the extension of the blue line and creation of the Springfield-Franconia Metro stop.  Like Cinderella’s glass fucking slipper.

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I don’t mean this in the long run

But right now, I kind of hate my family.  I kind of hate all Koreans for that matter.  The feeling will obviously eventually subside, and we’ll all find some sort of compromise to living again eventually, but at this very moment, I’m kind of pissed off at life, and I have only my family to thank for that.

Does this make me sound selfish?  Yeah sure, but I’m coming to the conclusion to a potential personal belief that everyone needs to have some selfish in them in order to prevent themselves from missing out on well, life.

During the tail end of my latest miserable visit up to Northern Virginia, the place where I grew up and now the place I dread going to more than jury duty or a workload of 380+ slide PowerPoints, the family was having another argument.  Typical Korean story bullshit, but then my mom pipes in that she now “gets” why the grandparents in Korean dramas are always pining for themselves to finally just die, so that they could alleviate the burden of their existence of their struggling children.

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There are times when I resent being Korean

Sometimes I wish my parents would go back to Korea, just so they could stop using their inability to have learned competent basic English as an excuse to be irresponsible and push the burden of their woes onto my sister and I. It sounds terrible, but I sometimes believe that if the monumental, albeit imaginary, language and cultural barrier didn’t stand in front of them, my parents might be able to take care of their own bullshit as opposed to heaping the responsibilities onto their children.

I understand the value of family and that we’re all supposed to be there for one another unconditionally, but in order for things to genuinely have any remote shot at success, all lines of communication must be open, and there has to be a mutual respect and acceptance that exists from all parties involved. I have no problem with helping my family or other people in general, because I like to imagine myself as a fairly decent person at the core, but it gets to a point where people that people who don’t help themselves are beyond any external help. That’s how I feel about my family sometimes, and it makes me feel genuinely lousy.

The story goes like this: Second-generation Koreans emigrate to the United States to do some sort of blue-collar work, whether it’s something agricultural or something more mundane like dry cleaning or operating a liquor store. I can’t say that I necessarily understand the rationale behind it, but often times the justification is “for the kids,” and often times “to have a better life.” The third generation of Koreans are essentially raised as Americans with as much Korean ideals as they are forcibly engrained with. In the perfect ending to this story, they become successful and make a boatload of money to where they can support their aging parents through the remainder of their lives as well as sustaining themselves and produce the next generation and sustain them too, with hopes that they will repeat the cycle, however theoretically from a higher starting point.

But the world ain’t perfect, and we live in reality. There aren’t nearly enough happy endings.

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