My four weeks are up. My to-do list is largely unmarked and I spent more time eating and sleeping than anything else, so everything went pretty much according to expectations. I think it is about time I went back to work.

As an aside, the youth group kids, instigated by Myung and led by Che, have been chiding me for being shallow. I like it. I think I'm going to try to cultivate the image. So, Iris, yes, if Chase can't go to California, California must come to Chase in completely indulgent heated/cooled seats. And, Maria, mayhaps I will start dressing like Zac Efron doing a Justin Timberlake impression during a Tom Ford show or something. Eh, whatever, just stop posting porn in your comments, thanks.

Anyway, back to the grind, bright and early. Being shallow ain't cheap, you know.

I remember hearing a sermon when I was younger that talked about the importance of being free from the pull of materialism and the need for the nice things of this world. The preacher mentioned that he found it discomfiting to walk through the church parking lot and be reminded of a luxury car dealership. And I decided that I will never drive anything more expensive than I need.

I've been driving a Honda Accord for the past nine years. I bought it partly because it has a reputation for reliability, but I would say that my car has had more problems than I would have liked. It was getting to the age when major problems start popping up, so my parents insisted that I start thinking about buying a new car.

My initial response was, "How about a Civic?" No way. A bigger car is safer, they said. And in the typical Korean parent way, they'd already called around to local Acura/Infiniti/Lexus dealerships. A Lexus is the most reliable car you can buy, they said. I didn't argue. It would be a huge pain to have to take a car in for repairs during residency, especially during a busy rotation. And, well, a safe car is safe.

I spent a day driving around to Lexus dealerships and bought the cheapest model at a reasonable price. I told Myung about it and he kept saying that I bought a Yah-Tah car. He said guys would drive around Korea in a nice car and yell out to random women, "Yah! Tah!" Great.

I have to admit, the car is nice. As long as it doesn't cause me any trouble for the next 4-5 years, I'll be happy. But I still feel a little guilty driving it around. When I drove some BYG kids around on Sunday, I twice made a little speech explaining why I got the car and how nice cars and nice things should not be the goal in life. I probably sounded too defensive.

On Good Friday, I went to a multi-church joint worship service. It was okay. Maria berated me because I was dressed in a hoodie and jeans - "like a college kid," she said - while pretty much everyone else, including the girls that I should have been trying to impress, were all dressed in fashionable dark/wool/Express/casual affluence. I told her the old line about how we were at a church, not a fashion show. She thinks I may end up dying alone.

I suppose ideals don't last forever. At some point, they mix with reality and compromises are made. You just try to grab hold of the heart of it and hang on for dear life. And if someone wants to hang on with you, then, yah, tah.

Myung began his college life in East Lansing many years ago. He still has fond memories of bonding with his dorm floormates over Counter-Strike, awkward-yet-wonderful Christian group meetings, and possibly something related to higher education. He ended up transferring to Trinity, where he was closer to home and to Bethel, but his true allegiance was never in doubt. He loved Tom Izzo, he bled green, and he never stopped cheering for the Spartans.

Last year, Myung started telling me about the University of Pittsburgh basketball team - DeJuan Blair's penchant for collecting offensive rebounds and the persuasiveness of Sam Young's shot fake. He cheered for them all throughout the season and into the NCAA Tournament, where fate led him to a decision. The Panthers were scheduled to play Michigan State in the second round, and Myung had to make a choice. Does he go with his semi-alma mater or his favorite team of the moment? He chose to root for Pittsburgh.

I yelled at him for his lack of loyalty. I yelled at him some more when MSU won. "You can't cheer for Michigan State anymore," I told him, "You betrayed them."

This year, both Pitt and MSU had very good seasons, although Pitt's was a bit more impressive and earned them a #1 seed for the NCAA Tournament, while MSU settled for a #2 seed.

Before the tournament began Myung IMed me and told me that he had finished filling out his brackets. His final game had Pitt beating MSU for the championship.

I IMed him back about fifteen minutes later and told him that I, too, had finished filling out my brackets. For the sake of all the unjustly scorned of the world, my final game had MSU beating Pitt.

As it turned out, Pitt didn't even make the Final Four, losing in the Regional Final to Villanova. Michigan State, on the other hand, upset two #1 seeds on their way to the championship game. The press is all in a tizzy about the psychological effect that MSU's run may have on the downtrodden state of Michigan, especially with the last games being contested in Detroit. The oddsmakers have made MSU an underdog to mighty North Carolina, which easily won a preview contest earlier in the season at the same venue. The last time I cheered for a team in the final against UNC, I was left so unsatisfied. But this time, I hope it will be different. Play hard, you Spartans, and win back hope for the hopeless, win back redemption for the beaten, and win back your Gomer.

Go State.

Epilogue:

Rhea told me that there are times when Sam will choose to do something, and even though she knows he's making the wrong choice, she will let him. He once ordered a mojito at a neighborhood bar, and even though she knew that a bar like that probably wasn't the type of place to ask for a mojito, she let him order it. When the waitress came back and told him that they didn't even have the ingredients on hand to make a mojito, Sam ordered a Long Island Iced Tea instead. And even though a Long Island Iced Tea was way too strong for someone like Sam, who barely has any tolerance at all for alcohol, she let him have it. She said it's better to choose her battles.

So sometimes you let it be.

Rhea told me about Shawn, a friend of hers, who had been using Match.com about as much as it could be used. He had gone on multiple dates every weekend with anyone who was presented as potentially compatible and even remotely attractive. As examples, she mentioned that he had one date with a physically-handicapped bisexual woman at a LGBT poetry slam, and another at a rock-climbing event. Admittedly, the details escape me at the moment, but I have to believe it wasn't the same woman, as I can't - as much as I want to - imagine this woman pulling herself up the side of a cliff with her wheelchair in tow.

Anyway, her point was that he'd been on all these dates, but hasn't had much success in finding Ms. Right because on Match.com if this one has a hair out of place, or wears jean shorts, or has any one silly, superficial thing that isn't perfect, well, there are a hundred potential dates waiting in his queue who wouldn't dare think of wearing jorts. And so every good thing gets passed up because just around the bend, there exists the possibility of something better.

Is that what I'm doing? I don't know. But I have noticed that as I get older, my tastes have become just a little more discriminating. I suppose I should be careful that I don't fall in love with some nonexistent ideal. Ideals won't give me the Heimlich when I'm choking alone in my condo. And they definitely will not haul mobility devices up to the mountaintop.