Monthly Archives: August 2014

Small and Painful Mat Furniture

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For those who dismissed my psychic and omen reading ability as mere pessimism: Today we had an hour long blackout because of wind and discovered Mother of She Who Must Be Obeyed needs a second surgery because national health care doctors don’t listen to patients. She’s doing well but her return home will now be delayed, disrupting the lives of quite a few people.

Proof that I’m almost human completed, let’s whine a little.

The only thing I hate about visiting my in-laws is their furniture. It’s designed for small, flexible people with good knees. I am large, not flexible and have bad knees (hence the lack of flexibility).

The living/family/dining room is a tatami mat room just off the kitchen. My in-laws, kids and She Who Must Be Obeyed have little problem sitting seiza or lotus, but for me I have to sit side saddle and support my weight with my arms, or sneak up against the wall or hutch to find back support. My in-laws do provide an arm chair that looks like an office chair that’s been cut off just under the seat. It’s more comfortable than sitting on the mats, but I can only sit with my knees up. It’s a bit like sitting on an easy chair with the foot rest stuck up. It’s fun at first, but it either induces gradual knee pain or recurring nap attacks.

Eating dinner involves me sitting side saddle and trying to sit straight enough to eat without dropping food all over my legs or the floor. The taller table, which reaches to the middle of my calves, allows me to get my knees just under, but the larger table, which is shorter, doesn’t have room for my knees, making eating a meal an experience in contortion and yoga. They have a back room which is more western style, complete with proper sofas.

Your zen koan for today’s meditation: What is an improper sofa?

Once again, however, they are a bit short for prolonged loafing. The main problem is that despite my preferences for being alone, when I’m at the in-laws I do feel compelled to stay with the family and, at minimum, practice Japanese. (My brother-in-law, though, just heads off to an upstairs room and disappears for most of his stays. I’m getting to that stage, albeit slowly.)

Also, if I have any work and/or writing to do, I end up with the laptop on my lap, but at an odd angle (or I have to put my legs at an odd angle.)

By the time I return home from a week at the in-laws, my knees and back are sore even if I’ve been keeping up on my exercises and stretching. (Some other day I’ll write about the weight I put on from the heavy eating and drinking forced upon me.)

I bring all this up because it’s possible Mother of She Who Must Be Obeyed may no longer be able to sit on tatami and this will require a lot of rethinking and redesigning of the house and her habits. I may have a few suggestions for how to change things.

Psychic Omens of the Vacation Apocalypse

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A short one today as I recover from travel and hope I can tether through my phone.

Today the oldest and I traveled to the in-laws house but before we left, I got to show off my psychic powers. Before that, though, I have to talk about the omens.

First Omen: after a hot but relatively dry summer, the day we were scheduled to travel typhoon 11 decided to arrive and dump a bunch of rain on us.

Second Omen: the rain that arrived was in a storm front, depicted in red (bad) and maroon (damned bad) on the weather map, that followed our exact path straight into Niigata.

Third Omen: several bullet train tracks had already been shut down.

Fourth Omen: it was raining hard enough that the drain on our balcony began to back flow in a new way. It didn’t flow onto the balcony, but it was noisy, as if it were mocking our attempts to travel during a typhoon.

Fifth Omen: about an hour before we left, the rain began to stop but it was raining just hard enough that we would need to carry umbrellas. However, as we left our apartment, the rain had become little more than random sprinkles and we didn’t actually need umbrellas. My psychic powers—which some say is simply pessimism—kicked in and I told our oldest to bring her umbrella anyway. I told her that about halfway to the station the rain would fall and fall hard.

Sixth Omen: Sure enough, almost exactly halfway to station we had to rush to get our umbrellas out as the sky opened up in downpour that left me soaked from the middle of my thighs down to my toes. The joke here is that once we were at the station, we’d be indoors or on trains the entire rest of the trip, meaning we no longer needed the umbrellas and they were just dead weight.

After that the trip went pretty well. The only real problems we had were the storm had swung to the Japan Sea and the wind slowed down our express train from Echigo-Yuzawa to Naoetsu. Luckily we were able to catch our local train and are now happily resting at the in-laws.

Seventh Omen: Too happily.

Manners Little Devils and the Moveable Curse

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Legends has it that identical twins have some kind of secret connection that causes them–even if they’ve been separated at birth–to dress alike and marry the same kinds of people. With my sister the only secret connection was that for way too many years we didn’t like each other that much. That’s what makes today’s story very strange.

I don’t remember when this happened which means I don’t remember why were together–she was either still living at home and I was back from school or we were mysteriously back home at the same time. I also don’t remember what we were eating, but I think it was chili because the pan was on the table. Whatever it was and whyever it was, one of us, probably me, let loose a very light, I swear it was very light, belch. This prompted our mother to say something to the effect of “I guess I raised a couple kids without any manners.”

My sister and I looked at each other and the devils over my shoulders and both the angel and the devil over hers connected and without saying anything we both started violating every manner we could think of and it pretty much escalated.

We put our elbows on the table; gripped our spoons in our fists; shoveled in food; ate with our mouths open; talked with our mouths full; slurped; belched; ate out of the pan; put food back in the pan; ate off other plates; ate with our fingers; licked our fingers; licked our plates. In other words, we pretty much violated the 5th commandment about honouring thy mother and since she looked about ready to violate the 6th it was clear that our days might not be long upon the land. She still has not forgiven us.

In the end we proved a number of things:
1) We knew what manners to violate which meant we did in fact have a few table manners.
2) Mom had her hands full with us when we were growing up.
3) Mom should have been more specific about which manners we’d been raised without.
4) We are terrible people.
5) We stopped just in time.

Mom responded by suddenly saying something that sounded like: Spero vo et filii vestri, idem facere. (No really, she spoke Latin) which I think is a curse that means “I hope your children act the same as you.”

Our oldest and youngest have done a pretty good job holding up their part of the curse, although with their own unique spin. The oldest is good at doing what she wants until the last possible minute and if you give her a minute she’ll suddenly forget how to turn off electronics which is her excuse to continue using them until I walk up and hold the power button for five seconds or pull the batteries out (which is all to explain why she’s currently washing dishes at 11:25 p.m.). The youngest is good at delivering the right phrase right before supper that angers She Who Must Be Obeyed. (The phrase is different each time.)

The only thing we can do is move the curse on down the line.

Carbo Loading on the Bus

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One of the consequences of living in a developing country is that little changes become mood-altering events. In Albania that little thing involved bread.

One thing we learned quickly in Peace Corps Albania One is that the Albanians would rather eat only bread than risk not having bread in the house in case guests stop by. In fact, one of their oldest sayings is that the three things they always have for a guest are “bread, salt and heart”. (This seems simple, but it’s the first level of the martial art that is Albanian hospitality.)

Unfortunately for us, because Albania was recovering from decades of Communism the bread choices were limited to government bread stores and their large, uniform loaves which were about the size and shape of a four inch partition block. They all had a groove in the center marking where to cut if the customer only wanted half a loaf. They were usually decent if you could get them and eat them fresh, but after a couple days they were dry and, I’m 90% certain, used as construction materials.

During our first year, the government liberalized the grain market and by the second year wheat and flour were cheap enough that small independent bread shops began to appear. The first I remember opened just down the street from my host family’s home and served fresh Italian loaves a few times a day, if you were lucky to be there when they opened. One day I camped out for half an hour to buy a couple loaves.

By the time I got home, one loaf was gone. I broke about every rule of etiquette on the way home including eating while walking and eating while on the bus. In my defense, they were steaming hot with crispy crust and I believe it pisses God off if you let bread that fresh go to waste. Also in my defense, it really was a mood lifter.

The other interesting part was that for some reason, the Albanians were more courteous in the private shops than at the government shops. Every government shop had three “lines” (more accurately described as “clumps”: The men’s clump, the women’s clump and the “I’m in a #@$%ing hurry” clump between the other two clumps. Within each clump the technique was to simply shove money between the bars (the government stores all had barred windows and doors) and grab the first loaf that came out.

The private shops had actual lines, with the occasional jerk. (Oddly, it wasn’t me as I missed out on bread a couple times because I was too far back in line.)

Oddly, those loaves of bread are one of the few things I truly miss from days in the Peace Corps.

Do As It Was Said Not As It Was Done If It Was Understood

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It’s a bad omen when you’re attending a teacher training conference and the people training you aren’t very good teachers. It’s also a bad omen when that happens pretty much every time you have to go to a teacher training. This is pretty much the curse of the JET Programme.

The problems started during the four (or was it only three?) day orientation we had in Tokyo, which should not be confused with the three day orientation we had once we got to Niigata (which requires a whole other post; until then all you need to know is power off at 11).

First there were the touchy-feelies. As a rule I’m not a big fan of touchy-feely teaching workshops. “Let’s all hold hands and tell secrets about what we ate for breakfast. This is totally a technique you can use in class!” or “Write down seven ideas for lessons based on salt. But you can’t write on the board!” (That last bit is supposed to be the challenging twist.) My attitude toward stuff like this is “I’m here to learn something, moron. Stop wasting my time so you can use up all of yours.” (Yeah, I’m a real hoot in the staff room.)

However, the worst lectures involved too much knowledge or too little.

During the Tokyo Orientation I decided to attend a computer workshop in order to have few basic questions answered: Should I buy a computer in Japan? Will all my stuff from the USA work if I do? Will my US computer work in Japan?

None of those questions were ever answered. Instead we got a presentation that would be roughly the equivalent of going to a Rolling Stones concert and having the the tour lighting designer give a detailed explanation of gels, gobos, and the various outputs of the various lights with emphasis on how the brackets were fastened and the metal content of the brackets on the PAR lights and the type of lubricant used to keep the spinning strobes spinning and the intelligent fixtures smart. Doesn’t that tickle your cuculoris? (Cue insider snort/laugh.) All this when all you want to know is “Why does Keith look blue? Is that your fault?” (Which, for the record, is more interesting to me than actually attending a concert.)

All I remember from the computer lecture is something about Dos V and PC-98 and how one or the other is not like the other one because it’s like Apple which means an Apple disc will work but not a Dos based disc and nothing, NOTHING will work on a word processor that looks like computer but isn’t so don’t even try oh and the hotel phone connections might fry your laptop modem for lots of technical reasons.  I thought I knew a reasonable amount about computers but came away knowing less than I’d known before the talk.

The other questionable lecture was at the Renewer’s Conference in Kobe. It was sold as a presentation about Japanese media by a man somehow involved in Japanese media. Instead, he admitted that the didn’t watch TV or read the newspaper. He also had a giddy hyper style with high pitched “oh ho ho ho ho!” laugh and I’m 90% certain he said “yippee!” at least once as he did a little hop and skip. It was all AMAZING! To make matters worse, when he actually did drop an interesting gem, such as about how Dentsu, Japan’s largest advertising company, controls TV ratings and therefore controls Japanese media, he would just move on with an “oh ho ho ho ho” and a skip.

Every now and then I made the mistake of volunteering to lead a workshop. I seemed to lose a lot of friends when that happened.

 

The Application is Half the Battle

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For reasons I still don’t fully understand, when I was in high school a few hundred years ago or so, I received an application from Oral Roberts University. I hadn’t requested one and still don’t know how they got my name. Although I didn’t apply, I was impressed by the lengthy application form, which I remember being somewhere around 10 or 12 pages and included things like personal Christian testimony and pledges to have no fun whatsoever for four years. (Something like that.) It was also the first application I’d ever seen that required a photo.

Little did I know, this application was pretty much an omen for my future.

When most normal people apply for jobs, they fill in a one or two page application, turn in a one or two page resume and sit through an interview with “What are your strengths?” “In what ways are you a moron?” etc. In my case, with the exception of some summer work, every job I’ve ever had, and one I didn’t, have involved lengthy applications and application processes.

First was for the Air Force which involved exams, physicals, repeat physicals, physical fitness tests, pupil dilation and marching about the square shouting orders. Oh, and six weeks of getting yelled at by men in campaign hats.

When I decided not to go into the Air Force, I applied for the Peace Corps. Once again, I had a huge application that included authorizing a basic background check and then was subjected to a series of physical examinations. The only problems I had involved my ears. For my initial physical, the nurse checked my ears and ran out of the room screaming and praying. I won’t get into details, but the praying was followed but a thorough cleaning. (More on why this was necessary later.) Despite that cleansing, I still failed the hearing test which put my application on hold.

Eventually I tracked down a professor at Kansas State who offered free hearing checks if the testee allowed students who intended to be doctors and/or mad scientists to conduct the test whilst the professor supervised. I was then taken to a dark room in the basement of either Lafene Student Health Center or Leasure Hall where I failed the hearing test again. The professor did a quick survey of my ears, which involved nearly pulling them of toward the back of my head and declared I had weird ears.

More specifically, rather than a straight ear canal, mine curves slightly. This means, um, ear matter doesn’t always exit the way it is supposed to and can build up if I don’t take precautions. That’s what had frightened the nurse in the first test. To make matters even more complicated, because of my weird ears, when I put on headphones, the way they sit over my ears causes them to partially block my ears which is why I failed the second test.

The professor was giddy at the thought he could now give his students a chance test my hearing via bone conduction. This meant using devices that attached just behind my ears and sent sound vibrations through my skull to my internal ear. Oddly, it sounded just the same as using headphones. Using this method, I passed and was medically cleared for the Peace Corps. (Since then I’ve learned how to better position headphones during hearing tests to keep them from closing off my ear canal; also, since I passed the Air Force hearing test, either the headphones fit better or the Air Force has lower standards.)

The last long application was for the JET Programme which involved 15 or 20 pages of information and a personal essay and more physicals. (All of which I passed.) It also required a photo be included, which apparently almost caused me to fail because it gave the impression I was very serious. Either way, it got me to Japan.

 

 

The Old and The New High Places and Fear

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Today the oldest and I both had the day off (well, sort of, I had to do some “work” in the morning, for six hours, no really, six hours, officially). Because of this, and despite the heat, we mustered up the energy to go down to Tokyo and visit Tokyo Sky Tree, which is the tallest tower in the world and, for now, the second tallest structure in the world.

Tokyo Sky Tree is just a short walk from Asakusa and the Asahi Brewery Headquarters (which is designed and colored to look like a tall glass of beer) and the Asahi Beer Hall which is famous for, well, let’s just say I had to explain to our oldest that it was designed to look like a hibachi and flame but apparently no one told Philippe Starck that the design looked like the standard Japanese cartoon depiction of poop.

The adventure, as all things tend to do in Japan, involved an hour waiting in line. Oddly we didn’t complain as, unlike Tokyo Disneyland/line, the wait was indoors and air conditioned. Once we had a ticket, we were hustled to an elevator and whisked up to 350 meters (1,148 feet). At this stage, there are restaurants and shops and a ticket counter for getting tickets up to the highest deck. I splurged and we were whisked up another elevator, this one with a glass top and glass doors to 440 meters (1,443 feet). At this point, to get back down, you have to walk up what’s basically a glass tube to get to 450 meters (1,476 feet) and the down elevators.

Oddly, at this point, I wasn’t having too many issues with heights.

The elevator takes you back down to the 350 meter deck and you then have to walk down to 340 meters (1,115 feet). At this level, which is the bottom of the three level lower deck, there’s an area with a glass floor. Our oldest walked out on it with no problems. In my case, however, the different parts of my brain had a short chat. My logical/reasoning brain, as small as it is, pointed out that there was nothing to fear as not only was the floor well designed, there was a actually a second floor below it. My lizard-brain responded with “Gyahhh! No! No! No! Danger! Bad! Fall Bad! Splat Bad! Glass fail! People fall! People die! People stupid! Me smart! You die!”

I took a step on to the glass, took a picture, then stepped back off as my logical/reasoning brain started listening to my lizard-brain and realized that the reason there was a second floor was because it was possible for the first floor to fail.

Part of the problem was there were dozens of people around and on the glass floor. If I stood in place trying to get my courage and focus built up, I was constantly getting jostled. If I could focus, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem. For example, I no longer have problems with the skywalk in the NS Building in Shinjuku because I’m able to relax and focus.

I crossed around to the other side of the glass floor near the window determined to try it again, but the view and the realization we were hanging over nothing made even my logical/reasoning brain shout “Fly, you fool! Fly! Er, I mean FLEE not FLY because FLY is totally what you want to avoid! Although, technically it’s FALL not FLY.” Of course, my escape was cut off by a little old lady who refused to move which meant I had to listen to my logical/reasoning brain snap and start comparing the glass floor to the Moon Door in Game of Thrones.

Eventually we went back down to the ground level and had lunch. Then, since our oldest had never visited Kaminarimon and Senso-ji, we took a brief side trip down Nakamise Street to eat agemanju or deep-fried sweet bean pastries (which, against all reason, are among my favorite sweets in Japan).

Unfortunately, we too hot and tired at that point to enjoy the temple, so we packed it in and went home. Luckily we woke up before our stop.

Strengths Weaknesses and Other Fish in the Sea

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In keeping with the weekly theme of long walks, I thought I’d talk about job interviews.

I’m pretty sure I had a job interview for my first job (delivering booze to liquor stores) but it wasn’t that memorable. The first job I remember applying for at university involved programming. I do not remember why I thought I was qualified to apply, but I vaguely remember someone I knew had suggested I apply because I was a decent writer. I also vaguely remember that it may have had something to do with proofreading text and writing the manual. All I remember for certain is putting on a suit and having to walk a long way across campus and being “that sweaty guy” at the interview.

I didn’t get the job–oddly, someone I graduated high school with did–but it was an experience that taught me a lot–mostly, park closer to the interview site.

The next job interview I remember was my Peace Corps interview. I suited up, parked closer (although this was probably in autumn so it was cooler) and waited patiently. The interviewer turned out to be one of the best friends of one of my best friends. We mostly chatted about our mutual friend and I was moved on to the battery of tests and retests that followed (more on that some day; until then a two word hint: weird ears).

There were small interviews for part time work after that but my next big interview was to join the JET Programme and go to Japan. (This was thanks to the suggestion of writer Bryn Greenwood, whose novels Last Will and Lie Lay Lain I recommend you all check out as she is an excellent writer and neither this blog nor my children would exist if she hadn’t recommended Niigata.) The JET interview was memorable for being my first group interview (A Japanese official; a professor and a former JET) and for me suddenly blanking and being unable to think of a subject verb disagreement. (I is stupid that way sometimes.) I also had to pretend to be a cowboy. (No kisses were involved, though.)

After all those interviews I’ve gotten pretty good at figuring out if I did well in the interview or if I did poorly. However, until I applied to my current company, I’d never had an interview that left me going “What the hell just happened?”

Things didn’t go well before the interview. It was my first internet application and, oddly enough, no one would actually tell me how to spell the name of the recruiter doing the interview. I’d sent letters to him with his name misspelled and all he would do was try to pronounce it as if that would help me magically understand how to spell it. (For the record: I only learned after I had the job and only because it was on a form.)

The interview was on a Sunday which meant we had to enter the building through the basement. We then went through the usual questions about strengths and weaknesses and ideal jobs and “Are you now or have you ever been a member of a union?” (None, plenty, all pay for no work; probably not.)

It went on long enough that it turned into a chat, which set off my warning system as I don’t always do well in chats. However, he then said something to the effect of “I don’t know how serious things are with this woman where you are now but there are a lot of women in Tokyo.”

I think I kept my mouth closed but I’m not sure. I then wondered if dumping She Who Must Be Obeyed was a prerequisite for the job.

In the end it didn’t matter. I got the job and they’ve treated me pretty well for the most part and I didn’t have to dump She Who Must Be Obeyed.

This Truck Rolls Without Brakes

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Since yesterday I talked about my long walk to visit the future in-laws, I thought today I’d talk about She Who Must Be Obeyed’s long walk. In her case, though, a flight was involved.

I had just finished my three years in Nou and was in a transition phase that involved going back to the USA for a new visa to be processed. As soon as I got the USA–there were a couple complicating factors involved–She Who Must Be Obeyed called me from Japan and pretty much invited herself to Salina for a visit.

I told my family about this and asked if it would be okay if she visited and the conversation went something like:

Me–Mom, She Who Will Eventually Be Obeyed is coming to the USA. Is it okay if she–
Mom–(on phone) Assemble the team. We have planning to do.

At that point, a truck was rolling and I pretty much lost control of SWWEBO’s visit. Old friends were assembled at the dinner table and they started planning a reception. As I half listened to what was going on behind me, I heard the reception growing and growing and growing. When it reached the point of renting a hall and inviting the Governor, I finally had to grab control of the steering wheel and point out the level of shock involved in arriving in a strange town and discovering a party in rented hall being thrown on your behalf by people you’d never met. Also, Bill Graves‘ hair was way too perfect for him to be much fun at a party.

You’ve never seen such an unhappy group of ladies in your life. (I suspect at least two of them never forgave me.)

Eventually, the plan was modified to a reception at my grandmother’s house with everyone arriving at staggered times to allow SWWEBO to acclimate to everyone. My only job was to casually announce the reception and make sure SWWEBO didn’t jump out of the car and run back to the plane.

When I told her, there was a brief moment where she eyed the door handle but she never jumped out. I then got to enjoy her reaction at seeing a Hardee’s chicken sandwich for the first time. She just stared at it for several seconds with an “is that all for me?” look. I said “Welcome to America” and “You can take half of it with you if you want.”

The staggered arrival reception went well and I was pretty much ordered to keep her around. More specifically, I was told I’d be an even bigger fool–interesting wording that–if I “let that one get away.”

So far, so good.

Walking the Long Walk and Talking

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One of the hardest walks to make in this life is the walk into the house of your possible future in-laws to receive their approval, blessing and/or open contempt/hostility. This is an especially difficult walk if 1) it’s going to occur in another language and 2) you’ve been keeping your relationship secret.

In my case, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I had been dating for several months before she showed my picture to her parents. The reaction, according to her, was a heavy sigh from her father. His major concern was if I’d stay in Japan or not, especially if the relationship became more serious. I was delighted by this as my ex-girlfriends typically had  much larger lists of major concerns than that.

Eventually, I had to make the walk and introduce myself. I entered the house and took off my shoes and was pleased no one passed out or chased me out. I was then directed down the hallway. I took two steps and stopped next to an open pit that covered the entire width of the hallway and was too wide to step across. I remember thinking, “Wow, letting me in only to drop me in a pit is cold; way cold.” They kept gesturing “go on, go on” but I didn’t go on until they explained it was the winter home of their koi and what looked like an open pit actually had a thick glass cover. I still didn’t go on until She Who Must Be Obeyed stepped on it and survived.

We then had the awkward gathering in a Western style backroom where we sat on opposite sofas while Mother and Father of She Who Must Be Obeyed put on looks of inscrutable contempt and skepticism that the Japanese have perfected. They offered the usual pleasantries and I gave them the usual personal information. Then they offered me chocolate cake. After nearly being killed in a pit, I was pretty sure I was about to be poisoned, but I decided to risk a bite. I then discovered that the real purpose of the cake was to test if I ate like a human or like an animal.

The question was answered when I dropped a bite of cake on their carpet.

I apparently showed the proper level of remorse and I was 1) allowed to live and 2) allowed to keep dating their daughter. Eventually I’d be taken to dinner with the entire family for a test of my ability to eat large amounts of food. Oddly, and surprisingly for those who know me, I almost failed. But that’s another post.