Author Archives: DELively

In With the New; Now What With the Old?

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I have a problem with notebooks.

As problems go, a notebook problem is not a huge problem, but it’s still a problem.

All though I tend to prefer to write things down as it gives me an excuse to buy pens, one of the problems I have with analogue notebooks is that once I finish them I still have them.

I then have the problem about what to do with them.

I have this problem with books too, but I rarely have to go back through a book and decipher my handwriting. Although, in all fairness, there are some cryptic notes in the handful of textbooks I kept. For example: LitCrit; B.S. P.H.D; and 8 Wombats Live. The first, I think, was a comment on a character’s comment that sounded like something from literary criticism; the second was my reaction to someone’s literary criticism (the P.H.D. means “Piled Higher and Deeper” you can guess what B.S. means); and the latter I think must have been some graffiti I saw somewhere and then scribbled in the margin of the book. Or it’s a band name I thought of. Or it’s an actual band. I don’t remember.

With books though, as long as I’ve not marked them up too heavily, I can always sell them off or give them away. With notebooks, though, I have to find a way to save the few snippets that I wrote down that are actually worth saving. I can photograph them and upload them to Evernote but that still leaves me the problem of finding stuff on my computer or on my phone whilst hoping the batteries don’t run out. Even searchable storage reaches a critical mass of “that’s too much mass” to be useful.

I can also transcribe the notes into a computer but that means I have to come face to face with my handwriting.Then there’s still the problem of critical mass and easy searching.

That, however, isn’t as bad as what I actually find in my notebooks, especially the thicker ones I’ve kept around for years. There are the false profundities scribbled haphazardly during a commute. There are also the moments that seemed like a really good idea but I don’t remember where I was going with them. For example “I can’t believe I’m here writing for the sole purpose of making a mess” seems like a really catchy opening line, for something. As is “The disaster is now the backdrop. The people only props” which I think I wrote after the earthquake and tsunami in 2011. The trouble is I didn’t date it or add any context.

Lately I’ve been doing daily or weekly transcriptions. This lets me enter the material while it’s still fresh, but that can steal time from real work.

Then there’s the final problem: throwing the notebooks out or storing them. I’d prefer to store them, as thumbing through the old notes can be inspiring, but storing them requires space. Now that I’m using smaller notebooks, it’s easier to transcribe them and throw them out, but there’s still a part of me that thinks I might need that someday.

Musgoes and Super Simple Complications

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I’m in the mood to talk about food because today we had some of my favorite foods for lunch and supper. Most of them, though, were made sometime last week.

With the possible exception of having popcorn for supper, my favorite foods to have for supper on weekends are usually leftovers. I don’t know why this is. I also don’t know why one of the few phrases my mother used that’s stuck with me is “musgoes”. There was also some mention of washing something after supper and putting something away and cleaning some place or another that I used to sleep in. I was also supposed to make something, but none of that is as important as food.

Because I like the phrase “musgoes” I’ve now exported it to Japan and have She Who Must Be Obeyed saying it, too. Today was actually the perfect day for musgoes. I’m cleaning the office after the neglect induced by the end of the school year and exam marking; our oldest was at club; She Who Must Be Obeyed was running our youngest around to something called “Mini Kawagoe” which is an occasional event where kids get to try out “job simulators” and pretend they are firefighters and police officers and the guy who runs the cash register at the convenience store and lets his friends by beer and cigarettes. (Something like that.)

She Who Must Be Obeyed came home after passing our youngest off on her friends and her friend’s mother and declared we were having musgoes for lunch. This was not, technically, the way things were supposed to be–musgoes for lunch are properly served on Sunday– but it was delicious, even though it involved several types of carbohydrates.

Then, for supper, none of us were really hungry. I opted for my other favorite phrase “Super Simple Supper” which, to me, involves the purchase of pre-made food. She Who Must Be Obeyed went shopping and came back with some chicken and some sashimi.

Unfortunately, it turned out there was also rice to be finished, so the Super Simple Supper turned into a bowl of fish on rice. it was delicious but it wasn’t super simple. It also involved too many of those things I was supposed to wash and or put way sometime or once.

Maybe our oldest remembers. I’ll have her wash that stuff.

Lots of Pens Without Much Passion

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A cute Japanese lady almost convinced me to buy a pen, but I told her I couldn’t.

Actually I said I’d have to think about it and then asked if they’d still be around on Monday.

Today was the 16th Mitsukoshi Fountain Pen Festival at Mitsukoshi Department Store in Downtown Tokyo. (It’s two blocks from where the Maruzen World Fountain Pen Fair took place last week.)

Last year when I went I was underwhelmed at what I found. Today I was only slightly more whelmed.

Today was helped by the presence three of Japans’ small fountain pen makers: Nakaya, Ohashido and Eboya (more on them later). I also like that the Mitsukoshi Festival has a table with racks of pens visitors are welcome to try. Piles of notebooks are also provided although, being a writer and a proper addict, I brought my own.

Try it, you'll like it. (Then you'll want to buy it.)

Try it, you’ll like it. Then you’ll want to buy it. (I spent a lot of time here trying and rejecting rationalizations.)

Mr. Yoshida of Nakaya was there fixing nibs and I was actually able to get get close enough to the table to handle some of the pens. However, She Who Must Be Obeyed apparently put a curse on me before I left the house because each Nakaya I touched burned my skin and I heard the Devil’s voice telling me I was going to burn and that forever was a very long time.

I also got a chance to try out Eboya pens. They specialize in pens made from ebonite. I impressed and scared them when I showed my Edison Glenmont LE. I was impressed with the Eboya and they are now on the possibles list.  I was disappointed, though, that they use Peter Bock nibs rather than manufacturing their own.

Two ebonite pens from Eboya. The force is strong in these two.

Two ebonite pens from Eboya. The force is strong in these two, but I don’t like the gold band on the cap.

The problem with the show is a problem that seems to apply to all Japanese pen shows: they are run for the stores and not for the enthusiasts. The Mitsukoshi fair had a terrific selection of pens, but most of the counters were run by Mitsukoshi clerks. Mitsukoshi, for those who don’t know, is similar to Harrods in London and Saks Fifth Avenue in New York. It’s for people with money and not the unwashed saving up to buy a Nakaya.

As such, there are no small stores selling pens, no vintage pens, and no fountain pen peripherals for sale. Although Mitsukoshi has a stationery section, there are no pen cases or pen cleaning items for sale. There’s also very little or ink, except that produced by one of the big pen companies. Sailor’s ink mixing master usually makes an appearance at the show, but he wasn’t there today.

Each company provides their own pen repair expert, but only at certain times on certain days. It’s all very serious and there’s also not a lot of charm or passion.

Th Pilot Pens section. The man in the front is repairing pens.

The Pilot Pens section. The man in the front is repairing pens. There’s not much passion on display here.

For example, Pelikan had an impressive display where visitors could try pens of different sizes with different nibs. It looked cool and after playing with the larger pens, I asked if I could take a picture. The clerk half scoffed/half sneered a “no you can’t take a picture.” I walked away saying that I didn’t realize that “Pelikan” was German for “asshole”. I may have to work that into my vocabulary: “Watch where you’re walking, Pelikan,” “Hey, Pelikan, stop trying to cut in line,” or “Hey, Pelikan, let me take a picture of your pen display.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever go again. That’s a lie. I’ll be there again next year.

Good Things Come in Threes a Bunch at a Time

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I’m trying to figure out if I bought some notebooks or a bunch of Beanie Babies.

First you have to understand how particular I am about notebooks and how the internet creates odd groups and fads.

As a writer I’ve worked my way through different types of notebooks depending on whatever phase/pretension I was in the middle of. I also always had problems with every notebook I ever had. There were those that were too precious, those that had spiral binding and those that were too thick. The latter were especially a problem as I’d soon get tired of carrying the large notebooks and start leaving them at home. Looking back at those I still have, I doubt I ever used every page of one.

Several years ago I stumbled across a line of notebooks called Moleskine. They were, at the time, fairly expensive, even for Japan but were pocket sized and well made. They also included a built in bookmark, a storage pocket, and an elastic band that held them shut. I bought a couple and then, when I got home, discovered in the storage pocket a little card that explained the history of the Moleskines. It involved Picasso and Hemingway and was such bullshit that I actually felt as if I’d been duped buying the notebooks.

Eventually, I worked my way through one book and started using the other. Of course, me being me, I cut out the bookmark (it’s annoying) and ripped out the elastic closure (also annoying). I won’t buy anymore because 1) they are now absurdly expensive, especially for Japan; 2) they aren’t that good; 3) despite not being very good they’ve remained too trendy; and 4) despite being trendy, no one can agree on how to pronounce their name (Moleskin; Moleskeen; or MolaSkeena). The latter is apparently the most accurate, but it’s too pompous to be taken seriously. It’s like going to Starbucks and using an Italian accent to order a frappuccino.

Instead I’ve recently been a convert to Field Notes. Field Notes are pocked sized journals with 48 pages (usually). I’ve already found them more convenient than the thicker Moleeseekineikies (or however you say it). They are easier to carry and it’s easier to find the notes you made. I’ve already finished a book and have stocked up on a few extra. I even, as part of the tithing I’ve mentioned before, subscribed to their annual limited editions.

The problem with Field Notes, though, is those limited editions (called COLORS). Basically every three months the masterminds behind the Chicago based Field Notes put out a special edition to subscribers. Each set comes in a pack of three notebooks and there is violence involved with people who throw away the band that holds them together (more on that later). Each subscriber receives two packs of the special edition and two packs of the company’s generic notebooks.

They started out with simple colors but have since been embossed, enlarged, waterproofed, clad in wood and even given out at random in sealed boxes. The newest versions have been wood type printed at a museum in Wisconsin and part of every sale goes to the support the museum.

The problem is the community that’s grown up around Field Notes can be both exciting and kind of scary. Some of the early limited editions can sell for hundreds of dollars if they are still in their sealed three pack. Serious collectors trade and deal to get complete sets (as of yesterday there are 26 limited “COLORS” editions). They also try to acquire custom versions made for businesses and conventions. Even the paper bands that hold them together have become collectible.

A few months ago Brad Dowdy of the Pen Addict opened a rare set and started using it. The reaction surprised him and he kept pointing out that he got them to use not to resell. It might have a high value now, but he bought it to use and because he liked the color. (Rather than freaking out, the collectors should have thanked him for increasing the value of their holdings.)

A few weeks ago I ordered a couple sets of a version called “America The Beautiful” from a store here in Japan. The day after my order was confirmed, the store, having apparently dealt with serious collectors before, contacted me to tell me that one of the sets had accidentally been opened and the decal lost. (Some of the sets come with extras.) If I wanted to cancel my order they understood. I didn’t cancel and they threw in a free set of a different, less popular COLORS edition.

What it reminds me the most of, at this point, is the Beanie Babies craze. That bubble cost people lots of money and even a couple lives. The best thing about the notebooks is that even if there’s a collapse, the collector at least has something they can actually use.

As for me, I’m not that interested in the collecting, especially as I tend to abandon collections after a certain point. That said, if someone wants to send me lots money for anything I own, I’ll be happy to ship it to you.

This stuff might get someone killed.

This stuff might get someone killed.

Goodbye and Good Luck and Good Riddance

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Today was the last day of exam passback classes which means there are a lot of students I won’t see again, at least for a while. In many cases this is a good thing.

At the school where I work, there is a progression in behavior. Junior high first year students (7th graders) are a lot of fun until the end of the year. At the beginning of the year you can scare them and trick them because they haven’t figured out the scam yet. (More on that later.)

Second year students (8th graders) have begun to figure out the scam. They are also entering the more incoherent and disruptive phase of puberty. Most, when they return from summer vacation, are suddenly grown up young men. At this point they begin working on the important things they’ll need for the rest of their teenage years 1) angst, 2) semi-coherence; and 3) absolute knowledge of anything and everything.

By the end of 8th grade most students have figured out the scam: 1) Mr. Lively’s class is only a percentage of their English mark and 2) they can’t fail.

This means that 9th graders, especially in the lower level classes, are difficult to teach. My biggest tool at this stage is orneriness and inherent meanness. Students quickly learn that I really will make them do homework at lunch and/or after school. One student had to come in at lunch everyday for a week until he finished spelling all the numbers from one to one-thousand.

Even the most disruptive students learn that making their lives miserable until they finish their work is something I do for sport. By the end of the year there are students who never want to see me again and I never want to see them again either even though that meant that I’d be passing my problems on to others. (Basically we all scream “Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia!”)

In all fairness, sometimes the student does better with the new teacher.

Today, though, was kind of pleasant. Although there are some students I hope I never see again, two of my 8th graders asked if I was going to be teaching them in 9th grade. I told them I wasn’t and they seemed disappointed. (Most are disappointed when they find out I’m going to be their teacher.)

Another student surprised me by having a fountain pen: A metallic green Pilot Vanishing point. (As seen here.) I was so impressed I gave him a bonus point (even though he didn’t actually need it).

 

Short Days At Work And Long Work Days At Home

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Today counts as my shortest day of work ever. Sort of.

Because we are in the pass back phase of exam season, I originally had little reason to go to the office today and, in fact, had planned to work from home (more on that later).

Then, suddenly, yesterday, lots of reasons to come in today found me. First, junior high school marks were due today which meant I finished marking my exams “yesterday” (at least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it) and had to enter final marks in the computer today.

Then, yesterday, I got a text from one of my colleagues telling me that the make-up exam assignment was also due today. Basically, at the school where I work, if a student fails, he is “required” to take a make-up exam which, if he passes and/or bothers to show up (“required” means different things in different cultures apparently) he can get a passing grade. Also, if a student gets a near-failing grade, he has the option of taking the exam to improve his score to a not as near-failing grade. The exams can be either take home writing assignments or sit-down exams. In this case, I planned to assigned long essays and then read them at my leisure when and if they arrived on my desk.

Of course the assignment was due at 8:20 a.m. This meant I had to trudge into work as if I actually was going to work. (The school has not yet discovered an effective way to use the resources of the internet in situations like this.) I got to work at my usual time (7:50 a.m.), entered marks in the computer and filled out the proper forms for the make-up exam and then found the proper teacher and passed the assignment off.

That was all finished by 8:15.

As I’ve written before, I work at the school not for the school, which means if there are no classes I usually don’t have to be there.  Still, I felt kind of guilty being the first person to leave when not everyone had yet arrived. I meandered around a bit pretending I had something to do.  That lasted only a few minutes, though, and I left school at 8:30, which is ten minutes before classes started.

However, although I was not at the place where I’m assigned to work, I was responsible for filling the time with work related activities, which I totally did. Totally. I worked up next year’s calendars and started thinking about how I’m going to fill the days at the end of next week when I’m not working but am responsible for working.

Avril and the Spy Quarters and the Witch’s Doll

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Although I’ve traditionally had a very short temper, as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned a few things about revenge.

Several years ago there was a strange series of stories about Canada’s poppy quarters and whether or not they were actually listening devices. This was, of course, poppy cock, because everyone knows that Canada gets all its intel from the hundreds of comedians it exports to the USA every year. (Although, it should be added, that now that most filming is done in Canada, Canada’s spy chiefs are a bit confused at the chatter coming in.)

We are listening to you, eh?

We are listening to you, eh?

Although this odd controversy proved true everything I think about government–too many people, too much money, not enough brains–a Canadian colleague of mine decided it proved everything he thought about the USA–too, well, I didn’t actually listen when he complained so I’m not sure what the complaints were. He therefore determined that he would slip spy quarters in our stuff and let us discover them in our own good time.

Let me say that again: To mock my country he was going to give me money. Mock on, I say. Mock on.

We, his colleagues, found the quarters right way. That’s when the revenge ensued. We agreed not to mention it just to see how long it took him to crack and bring it up himself. It took just over two weeks of him hint dropping before he finally just asked us if we’d found them.

The other revenge involved Avril Lavigne. A different Canadian colleague knew that I was not a big fan of the Canadian crooner and after he somehow “stumbled across” one of her posters. (i.e. took a spare one off his wall at home) he decided to use it as a joke. When arrived at work the next day, Avril Lavigne was tacked above my desk taunting me about why I had to make things so complicated and why I could actually spell “skater”.

I knew this would require a special level of revenge. I left the poster in place as inspiration and tried to think of a good way to get back at him. Two years later, my colleague was cleaning out his desk and commented that there was a shocking amount of brown twine in his desk. (The brown twine is used to bind bundles of exams.) He said “what is this, something from the Blair Witch Project?”

A bell went off in my head and my hunting dog ears went up and I knew I had the revenge. I got a bunch of brown twine and shaped it like a voodoo doll. I cut Avril Lavigne’s face out of the poster and stuck it to the voodoo doll and put it in his desk drawer.

He reacted exactly the way I hoped he would but the last bit of revenge happened when he got ready to go home. I’d made a second doll and put it in his coat pocket. He found that one when he went to put on his gloves.

 

I haven’t had to do anything like that for a while, but now that I have fifty cents Canadian listening to everything I say, I’d probably better get ready for something to happen.

Skates and Sports and Tippy Toes with Bad Ankles

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I once had a very strange and informative discussion with a Canadian that revealed a lot about cultural differences and religion (or maybe it was sports; it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes).

For reasons I don’t remember, we were discussing the fact that I had once owned a pair of ice skates. He thought it funny that I’d owned what I guess are called “Tippy Toe” skates when I should have had hockey skates. (I don’t know if this is true or not and, quite frankly, don’t care. It’s just hockey and figure skating, after all.) I kept trying to point out that wearing hockey skates, at least where I grew up, would be the equivalent of wearing football cleats to run a marathon but he kept accusing me of being Johnny Weir.

I put it all down to cultural differences. Where I grew up we were into skiing not skating; where he grew up hockey is religion and so important that a loss in the Olympics will send an entire nation into mourning for a week, especially if that loss is to Finland and keeps them from even getting a bronze medal. (I saw this happen in 1998; my Canadian friends still cannot talk about it without choking up a bit.)

The most curious thing about all this is I don’t remember why I owned ice skates in the first place. Either I had requested them, with visions of me being more athletic than I was, or someone had thought it a good idea that I own a pair. (Every boy should own a pocket knife, a baseball glove and a pair of figure skates?) Something like that.

However I ended up with them, I joined a group of people at a small frozen pond in a gully near my house in Hayden, Colorado. I got on the ice, and well, things didn’t go so well. Weak ankles run in my family and I found it hard to keep the skates vertical. Most of the time I was walking on the sides of the skates and trying to actually, well, skate.

I tried skating a couple more times after that and it went badly again.  I did the manly thing and gave up and put the skates away forever.

For all I know, they’re still tucked away in a box somewhere.

The Kickstarter’s Dilemma

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Any careful consideration of the topic will convince you that Kickstarter is a very dangerous place to visit, especially if you own a credit card.

And it’s not the only place that’s dangerous.

Part of the danger stems from an odd idea I got a couple years ago that an interesting way to tithe, especially as I am dubious of churches as institutions (long story), would be to contribute a small percentage of my income to supporting small manufacturers, especially those just starting out. I also had a preference for manufacturers in the USA, although that was a guideline not a rule. I started with knife makers (in the USA and New Zealand) and, thanks to the enablers at the Pen Addict podcast, slowly moved into pens and other things being sold on Kickstarter.

This has been a mixed blessing. Thus far I’ve backed eight projects and had little or no problem with four of them. My first project was a batch of pen cases from Nock Co (owned by Brad Dowdy of the Pen Addict) and although there was some delay caused by the company’s ambition (hint: too many ideas, too many colors, not enough time, no sewing machine), I got the pen cases with no problem and now carry two regularly. I also passed a couple to the girls and use a couple more as storage for pen parts. Granted, there are a couple unused cases I stare at and think “what ever will I do with you” and they whisper back buy more pens and I whisper back “okay”. (No, really, the pen cases whisper to me. I think.)

I also had no problem with Eighty Pages, Karas Kustoms or the Decadent Minimalist One wallet.

Two projects, however, have proceeded slowly. One at least keeps backers updated; the other doesn’t seem to understand why the backers are upset that deadlines keep being missed. Two haven’t yet had a chance to disappoint.

I’ve declined to back more projects than I’ve supported, including pens from Tactile Turn, although I then ended up winning one in a contest. I can’t explain my criteria. Some things don’t interest me enough to bother and somethings don’t ship to Japan. Somethings are absurdly priced.

I’m also always aware that I’m walking a thin line between “tithing” and “just buying stuff”.

Then there’s Massdrop. That’s another danger zone. (Although it has some nice stuff.)

 

Searching for the Rhythm but Finding the Denial

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A couple hours ago, a friend of mine gave me a tip to help me get through the rest of my exam marking: Mark one test. Play one game. Mark one test. Play one game.

The funny part is, this is pretty much what I already do.

I’ve written before about how this time of year is confusing for us and how we have to pay attention to what we’re doing.

This year, at least for me, is especially complicated. I finished marking my high school exams  Tuesday evening and have spent the last few days passing the tests back. Since I haven’t had much to do in the afternoon and evenings, I’ve gone to pen shows and played games. Mentally and physically, I feel as if I’m already finished.

The problem is today I got a new batch of exams, which means I have to somehow convince myself that I’m not finished. To make matters worse, there are not that many of them (48; for high school I had over 160) and they are not due until Wednesday.

Now, the adult thing to do would be to sit down and start marking and not stop until the last exam was marked. Yeah, great plan, too bad I’m not actually an adult once I’ve finished exams, even when I’m not actually finished. In fact, I get down right lazy once I’ve finished. This means if I don’t get past this denial phase and start marking, it’s not joke that the work will expand to fit the time and it will take four days to finish the exams. (And I don’t mean by doing an efficient

I started marking exams this evening and then spent an hour playing games whilst chatting with my friend via the glorious time wasting magical powers of the internet. While we were playing he suggested the plan I mentioned before.

I’ll have to surf the internet a while and think about that plan more carefully. Then I’ll do some marking. Maybe.