By early 90′s, my hometown had become one of the last towns to have a sizable number of gugongtan-heated homes. Grandma used to tell me that I should wake up and run away as far as possible if I ever felt dizzy in my sleep. But how do I know I’m dizzy if I’m asleep? I had left my hometown at the age of three, and I am still not sure grandma ever answered my question.

My sharpest memory of the hometown is of a moment at the marketplace near grandma’s apartment. I had just read the name of the toy I wanted to my grandma: Ja-pan-ki-no-ri. I want that, grandma. Please? Grandma was first shocked that I was able to read, and was soon horrified that the mini vending machine cost nine-thousand-and-nine-hundred won. But I knew none of this; I had just wondered why it took grandma so long to find her purse. Back in the apartment with the new toy, I forgot all about the dizzies. Grandma also did not mention it for a while, but it took me a long time to realize the absence of warning.

Nineteen years have passed since then. I was back in my hometown, eating at a cheap sushi buffet with my aunt-in-law and her children; we were planning on visiting grandma’s grave afterwards. Aunt and I were talking about grandma, and it occurred to me that 9900 won was no longer enough for a meal at an okay restaurant: we had to pay 13000 won per person to eat in. What can you buy with 100 won around here these days? Why do you ask, aunt said. I need precisely nine-thousand-and-nine-hundred won.

It was the first time in my life I visited a relative’s grave on my own accord. Aunt and I bowed down, stood up, bowed down again, stood up, and dedicated to grandma’s grave a glass of makgeolli, the traditional Korean rice wine. Aunt then went looking for her little boy who ran down the mountain a few minutes ago. Left alone, I sat down and stared at grandma’s grave for a long while, only to find a little hole right next to the tombstone. I gave the hole a long gaze, drew a heavy sigh, and stuffed the money I brought into the hole. As I was filling the hole with dirt, however, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I did something incredibly silly. I wanted to be dizzy once again: I could forget everything if I were dizzy, if I were given the cue to run away as far as possible. As soon as the thought pierced through my head, I grabbed the bottle of makgeolli and poured the drink into my mouth.

Nothing happened; the dizzies just weren’t there. I was only reminded that I knew now perfectly well when I would be dizzy in sleep—-and why, even. I threw the bottle into the ground, let out another faint sigh, and wondered what I could have done better as a two-year-old.

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Notwithstanding the delay, the magazine—the little of it I have read thus far—did not disappoint me. Publishing Massimo Vitali’s “Bathers” seems to me a cruel choice on the editor’s part—for the stimulated yearning for the summer beach—but the photos are gorgeous, nonetheless. I never knew photographs of crowds of people could be so interesting. A quick Google search reveals that Vitali has been focusing on beach photography as of late. His portfolio even sounds beach-y.

I have only given a perfunctory glance to the “Winter Poetry” folio in the middle, and only one poem has caught my eyes so far: Dorothea Tanning’s “Cultivation.” Incidentally, it is the one poem The Paris Review decided to post on their website.  The other piece I read, however, was absolutely stunning. It is Carsten René Nielsen’s “House Inspections,” which I read three times, front to back, in one sitting, marveling at its beauty. One curiosity: The Paris Review decided to categorize it under “fiction,” which confused me a little bit, as there seemed to be no semblance of plot or character development in the “story”; furthermore, Nielson’s website categorizes it as “ten prose poems.” I wonder what sparked this seemingly—well, false decision.

Now, if I could find the time to read the rest of it…

I need more time: preferably more than ten years.

Yours sincerely,
Mark Kim

1. UCLA is well-known for its logic program, but I did not have to tell you this if you found this post through a search engine. The quality of instruction was generally satisfactory, although the lackluster first-order logic lectures did leave a lot to be desired. Forcing was an excellent course, even though it was taught by the least established faculty of the summer school; namely, a graduate student. I did not take nonstandard analysis, but what I have heard indicates that it was a good course.
2. Mathematical maturity issue: The summer school website claims that the school “designed to assume little if any prior experience with logic.” This is false. You need either (1) a prior course or two in logic and set theory, or (2) the mathematical maturity of a typical first-year graduate student, or something along that line.
3. But, it seems to me that these courses were not designed to replace the standard semester- or year-long logic courses. They were simply to challenge the students, and give them a little edge. In that regards, the program was very well-organized: the pace of the lectures was very fast, the problems sets were nontrivial, and, indeed, the students never suffered in boredom.
4. The accommodations were excellent, if not a little excessive. We were treated with a spacious two-person, air-conditioned room with daily maid service, free breakfast and dinner, weekly trips and occasional feasts, and three-thousand dollar stipend for three weeks of taking courses.
5. All in all, Professor Itay Neeman succeeded in creating a very attractive summer program. If there is another logic school next year, you—the reader—should apply.