Author Archives: DELively

Glad to be Here When That is on Over There

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One of the advantages of living overseas is that I’ve managed to miss every US election since 1992. (Well, with one mid-term election in 1994 as an exception.)

I’ve voted in most of the Presidential elections since I turned 18, although I don’t have the fetish for voting that a lot of people do. If you don’t like anyone running, what is the point of voting except religious ritual or a twisted electoral version of Saw? (Here are your choices: You can vote to be torn apart by wolves or picked apart by crows. If you don’t vote, you can’t complain about which one tears you apart. Make your choice.)

One of the things I like about being overseas during US elections is the merciful lack of advertising–both official and disguised as “news”. I’ve not seen any attack ads and I don’t get any spin from talk shows. Instead I get raw data from lots of sources and then get to sit back and wonder why anyone ever thought Wendy Davis was viable as anything other than shoe sales and why anyone thinks the fat guy from New Jersey is a Republican.

It has also been interesting to see the “Wow He’s So Cool!” attitude toward the current US President fade in Japan. I’m no longer asked “How much do you like Obama?” and then have to say “A pox on both their houses” and then have to explain what pox and which houses and who they are.

I do, on occasion, especially during Presidential elections, find myself explaining the difference between parliamentary systems and the US system and the difference between first-past-the-post elections versus proportional systems and having set elections versus “Hey, everyone/no one likes me! Let’s have an election RIGHT NOW.”

I also have to explain that money will not be removed from US politics so long as newspapers, radio and television get most of the advertising money that’s spent.

On occasion, though, I have to impose a cone-of-silence in which I refuse to discuss politics, especially at work. Talking/arguing about such thing is not something I normally like to do at work, but I once had a colleague from a Country That’s Not the USA (not a real place) with anti-Sarah Palin derangement syndrome. He had it so bad and came across as so smug that I actually found myself defending her even though, well, see “wolves” versus “crows” choice above.

Now I wait for the next Japanese election. Those involve vans with speakers and women with gloves. It only lasts 90 days or so, but those vans make them seem longer.

International Bring the Pain Month

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This month, because I don’t have enough to do, I’ve decided to write a novel. I only have 30 days.

This month, for the uninitiated is National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo). The goal is to produce at least 50,000 words of a novel in 30 days. This is not to be confused with Movember, where men get paid to grow mustaches for charity or the 3-Day Novel Contest where the goal is for masochists to produce a 100 page novel in 72 hours. (This is the equivalent of “Black Friday” for the caffeinated beverages/energy drinks industry.)

This means I have to write at least 1,667 words a day until November 30th.

Now, if you’re keeping score:
1) I have a day job and winter, er, exams are coming;
2) I’ve committed to write at least 300 words a day on this blog;
3) I occasionally am expected to speak with the members of my family;
4) I’m now writing about 6-7 typed pages of text a day.

The good thing about the challenge (which given the international participation should be called IntNoWriMo) is that it requires the participants to write without thinking–I recognize that look so shut up–and learn to use free time to meet the daily quota. The idea is that the rapid pace required shuts down all internal editors (ha, as if) and the participants just generate words.

In my case I’m what’s known as a NaNoWriMo rebel. I’m finishing a project rather than starting a new one. I still have to produce 50,000 words to “win” and I’m only allowed to submit the words written in November. This was something only recently allowed as the true spirit of the event is to start from scratch and produce 50,000 words. I’ve heard of writers who finished one project and then started another and somehow got to 50,000 words. (To give you a sense of the size of this project, my current novel is at 17,227 words–7,925 written in the last four days–and is 80 pages long.)

After everyone is finished, there used to be a follow up event called National Novel Editing Month (NaNoEdMo) but it appears to be on temporary hiatus.

Wish me luck. I already feel the madness setting in…

Busy is as Culture Does

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Culture Day is one of the holidays in Japan where no one actually gets to rest.

Like all holidays in Japan, it is tied to the birth of an Emperor, in this case the Emperor Meiji who modernized Japan and crushed a rebellion of samurai by mistakenly having Ken Watanabe killed instead of Tom Cruise.

Overtime, Culture Day became, or at least Culture Day weekend, became the time when most schools host an annual Culture Festival/School open house in which 1) Everyone shows off the crappy art they’ve produced over the year; 2) someone gives a speech (someone always has to give a speech) and 3) the crappy boys rock band apparently issued to every school (because every school I’ve worked at has one) plays and everyone feels embarrassed for them and especially for their parents.

Teachers typically have a lot of extra work preparing for Culture Day as it’s one of the few days attended by large groups of parents. Therefore, since, well, crap rolls down hill, this means the students have a lot more work as they practice and prepare for the festival.

Even if you’re not part of the Culture Festival, you may still be busy. Many sports clubs have their annual tournaments on Culture Day, including my karate style. In fact, when we meet for our semi-annual tournament, there are usually three other tournaments, including Kendo and Judo and another karate style taking place in the other arenas as well as a Japanese archery tournament in the archery range. (Someday, i want to see a pervert try to grope someone while that crowd is waiting around for the arenas to open.)

This, of course, means extra practice and sacrificing a day off. One year, I took part in four different events in our style’s tournament (kata, fighting, bo kata and defense against groups) and by the end of the day I was so tired that actually going to work suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

That’s pretty tired.

Standing Exciting Sitting Boring

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Today I watched a brass band play and had flashbacks to high school.

Our oldest’s school hosted a bazaar and band performance that was, in a word, bizarre. First, the PTA, including She Who Must Be Obeyed, set up a used goods flea market inside the school dojo. They chose the dojo because it offered limited access and the best security. They then handed out numbers to interested parties and (via the corruption of easy access) to family members, including our youngest.

When the bazaar opened, we had to stand in numerical order and then change shoes and raid the used goods. At the same time, a group of people with the next 50 numbers was lined up to get in and She Who Must Be Obeyed and other PTA members were selling hot dogs, fried chicken, fried noodles and doughy octopus balls (which sounds funnier than takoyaki).

The bazaar was scheduled to open at 9:30 a.m. However, at 9:00 a.m., the Junior High Brass Band put on a show that included comedy sketches and, well, we’ll get to that.

Because She Who Must Be Obeyed was busy with bazaar, Yours Truly was handed our youngest, a video camera and voluntold to record the show and watch our youngest whilst simultaneously making sure our youngest didn’t lose our number 47 (which by colossal coincidence is my age for about 15 more days).

The band performance opened with a comedy routine that mimicked most Japanese comedy duos and teams (lots of slapstick based on puns). The performance was actually pretty good–which given how much they practice they’d better be–but the trumpet player clearly got nervous during her solo at the beginning of the less than rousing, obligatory performance of Let it Go. As a former trumpet player, I felt her pain (I also felt she could have used some vibrato).

The show featured, though, one of the more puzzling things about being in band: having to stand up at random times to seem cool/add excitement. I remember having to do this in both Hayden, Colorado and at my high school in Kansas. In some cases, during a Glen Miller song, we’d have to stand up and swing our horns left and right which actually made a kind of sense (swing tunes, swing horns).

It was the random standing that got to me. I understand if a soloist needs to stand up because then the audience knows who is playing but I don’t understand an entire section standing up. It’s as if the director thinks the music is boring so she makes a section stand up and suddenly, like magic, the music is exciting.

Try randomly standing up and sitting down during a conversation once and see what kind of excitement that adds to the conversation.

In some cases, one section stands up and then another stands up in front of them in a kind of dueling sections that pisses off the parents trying to get clear video of their oldest daughter playing flute and piccolo.

In the end, the band was asked for an encore (which is obligatory and involves more standing) and then they said goodbye to audience on the way out.

Next year, if our oldest is still playing, I’m going to try to get the audience to stand up at random times. Won’t that be exciting?

Ask and Ye Shall Receive Surprise and Befuddlement

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When I was in Albania I saw an American professor made speechless by an audience question. Everyone in the audience who’d been to a US university was speechless too.

For reasons I don’t get, students in the USA are taught that the most important part of a speech is the questions after. (In Japan, this even caused an acquaintance of mine from the UK to say “here come the Americans” when a speaker asked the audience for questions and several people headed to the mics.)

The theory behind questions seems to be that the person asking the question will somehow be able to either 1) coax an interesting answer out of a boring speaker; 2) give the speaker a chance to expand on a point; 3) trap the speaker with a clever question.

Unfortunately, what usually happens is the the questioner

1) repeats part of the speech creating a “no shit, Sherlock” look on the face of the speaker:
Early in your speech, in the second paragraph in fact, right before you compared bananas to eagles, you said that apples are not oranges because they come from different trees and therefore are essentially different races of fruit…etcetera etcetera. (Eventually the questioner gets to a question heard by the handful of people still awake.)

2) attempts to show off intelligence by becoming incoherent and jargony:
Hobart’s stringent treatment of the relationship between the dialogic materialism of materiality and the linguistic construction of the cisgendered natural jouissance of the Bullcrappian critique of capitalist urmasculinity must be a model for future work in the field. What say ye?

3) attempts to trap a professional politician with a question the questioner thinks is original:
Isn’t it true that you and your actions were responsible for the crimes in Antwerp in 1997 that left 25 people dead and caused the collapse of the Belgian government and caused untold suffering in the Middle East? What say ye? (Politician’s answer: No. It isn’t true.)

(Author’s note: to the best of my knowledge, nothing actually happened in Antwerp in 1997.)

However, the question I heard in Albania was none of these. A Hemingway expert from Some University in the USA (not a real school) came to Albania and gave a lecture. The Albanians, hungry for something not on the official Communist reading list, crowded the small room.

To this day I don’t remember the subject of the lecture, although I do remember the professor was a nice guy and he was a friend of a friend. What I mostly remember is that one of our Peace Corps language teachers, a gentleman name Berti (the “e” has a long “a” sound as in “scare”) was called on to ask a question.

His question: How would your country be different if it had adopted Hemingway’s values?

We were all speechless, which is not normal for a roomful of academics. The question managed to be both different and topical. It was also simple to the point of being anti-academic and gave the professor a chance to shine.

Or it would have if he hadn’t been dumbstruck by the question.

He managed to mumble something about it being more manly or more macho or more people would go fishing and hunting or something and long for women who didn’t love them and then would get drunk and kill themselves with shotguns. (I might be misremembering that somewhat.)

After the lecture, I talked with my friend and the professor. He was in “I should have said” mode but he also knew he’d never get a question like that again. I knew I’d never hear a question that good again.

Halloween is Gone Before It’s Even Past But It’s Fun

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Today was Halloween and yesterday I looked around for some potential costumes. I was already too late.

I’ve mentioned before how the Japanese recognize Halloween but don’t really celebrate it. In the school where I work, a handful of us decided to go in costume to just to do something different and because one of your high school projects has the students developing their own cartoon supervillains.

Because it’s a Christian school, I decided to go as the devil and went to find a pair of devil’s horns. I started at a 100 yen shop and was surprised to find only a few decorations and little else. I couldn’t even find any masks. As a back up, I bought a toy pistol and planned to go as a police officer or a soldier.

Note: The video club at the school often run around with toy guns–I’ve even had to tell the boys 1) to never point them at me again and 2) proper stance–so I wasn’t worried about anyone freaking out.

In the end, I remembered that many years ago She Who Must Be Obeyed made a pair of devil’s horns for our youngest for Halloween. Because we still had them she lent them to me and I’m now the second generation of Lively’s to wear the devil’s horns. (Which is not necessarily a good thing, now that I think about it, and traditions are supposed to go down generations not up them. Oh, and father’s aren’t supposed to wear their toddler daughter’s clothes.)

The horns looked good on me (once again, that’s not necessarily a good thing) and I matched them with a red shirt and black slacks. My official story, when I got comments from teachers, was that on Halloween I reverted to my true form and if they were interested in being really rich or living forever or being famous blues musicians, I just happened to have a little contract they could sign.

The school priest had a great laugh and I regret not posing with him for a photo. (I also thought about going over the chapel and pretending I was blocked from going inside.)

Then, I got double use out of the horns for our annual, and now rather small, neighborhood trick-or-treat rounds. I met the kids at the door with the horns on my head and flashlight under my face.

Now I get to enjoy the leftover candy (you can have some, too. Just sign the little contract I send you…)

If You’re Crooked and You Know it Clap Your Hands

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There are so many scandals involving political funds in Japan that politicians ought to just get together and admit that they have them. This would save a lot of time and effort.

What typically happens in Japan is that Some Politician or Other (not a real name) will be having a good career and then all of a sudden cross a magic line of public attention and popularity and suddenly it will be discovered that someone on the politician’s staff 1) accepted money from questionable sources 2) didn’t disclose all the money accepted 3) spent the accepted money on questionable things or 4) all of the above.

Even though, officially, the politician is not corrupt–I usually describe it as “I’m not a crook, but I hire a lot of them”– the politician apologizes for the trouble and resigns to take responsibility. Eventually, after a short time away from politics, the politician can return and resume a career. In fact, I would argue that having a political funds scandal is a rite of passage in Japanese politics.

This happened recently when Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry Yuko Obuchi, the daughter of the late former Prime Minister Keizo Obuchi and a rising star in the Liberal Democratic Party, (which, for the record is neither liberal nor democratic) was forced to resign after it was discovered that her staff had used political funds to purchase thousands of dollars worth of things, including make up.

Also, resigning was Justice Minister Midori Matsushima whose crimes, er, whose staff’s crimes included distributing paper fans with her image and policies on it to her supporters at a political rally, which apparently violates Japanese election law.

The funny part about all this is that there are very few things the political funds are spent on. The Japanese prefer loudspeaker vans that practically drive up to the front of your house to television commercials that you can turn off. In fact, to the best of my knowledge, any TV commercials are done by the party not the candidates.  Despite that, it’s important that money be collected for, um, something, retirement?

I’m still not sure.

Working At Where You Do Not Work For

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Every now and then, I get tired of not existing.

To understand this you first have to understand that although I work at a school, I don’t work for the school where I work. Instead, I work for a dispatch company that assigns me to the school where I work.

This is a fairly common state of existence for a lot of teachers in Japan. The schools like it because someone else is doing the hiring and firing and reference checking and disciplining. If the schools have complaints, they will find at least one sympathetic ear in the form of the salesman who will quickly relay the complaint to a higher up who will pass it down to a lower down who will dump it on the teacher receiving the complaint.

This makes it easy to get rid of teachers the schools don’t like. It also puts most of the pressure on the teachers and the dispatch companies to develop all the lessons with, according to the law, little or no input from the schools.

If the teacher has a complaint, however, well, if it’s not life threatening, it will probably get dealt with eventually and until then “thank your for your hard work and cooperation and we really appreciate your effort” (translation: your complaint has already been shredded and incinerated). My company even has two layers of human firewalls whose only job is to absorb complaints and deliver bad news. (There used to be one layer, but that layer decided it needed a layer of protection as well.) The firewalls don’t have the authority to make any decisions. They simply pass messages along, or at least they claim they do, to the people who can make decisions.

Basically, I’m the English teaching equivalent of a plumber. I’m sent to a place to fix the pipes but if the clients want their pool fixed, I have to call my company and get permission. If I’m at the place for a long time, I still take orders from my company not the clients. However long I stay at the place, I’m still not part of the family, just a guy there to clean crap out of pipes.

The companies like it because they get a decent amount of money for the contract but don’t have to pay a decent amount out. As teachers, we find that the schools couldn’t care less (if they did, they’d hire direct) and the companies don’t care as long as they have the contract. The companies also like that they can change terms and conditions at their whim. (Our previous statement is no longer active and if you don’t like it, we will just cut your pay if you don’t comply. Thank you for your cooperation.)

If you don’t like it, tell it to the firewall. Someone will eventually get back to you once it’s too late to actually do anything. (No, really, I don’t work for the government.)

For the most part, because I got in reasonably early, this situation has been pretty good for me. (For example, I get full pay during the summers.) The problem I have, though, is that sometimes the clients expect to have more control and start giving instructions and the company looks the other way but if something goes wrong the clients don’t really care and the company blames me if the clients complain.

 

 

The Month Has Dragged You Down

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The past few years I’ve noticed that something about October has been playing havoc with my psyche. Apparently I’m not the only one.

Last Sunday five of the six foreign teachers at the school where I work got together for the school festival and later we went for a couple drinks. I think we were all surprised how much we actually needed a drink and how much we ended up drinking.

One teacher described how he hadn’t been feeling like himself and lately we’ve all commented about how long even holiday shortened weeks have felt. This isn’t just the usual after summer grind; it’s something to do with the season.

Last October was when the full after-effects of my father’s death hit. Looking back over the past few years of diary entries, I seem to have a lot of “confusion journal” entries in October. I’ve also noticed that a lot of new habits and practices tend to fall apart in October and I revert back to my bad old ways.

I’m not sure why this is. It could be the changing weather and the frequent up and down temperatures, random typhoons and the periodic fits of humidity. It could also be because  weekends also tend to get busy with school events from three different schools.

I also wonder if it’s connected to the random days off we have in October making it hard to get a good life and teaching rhythm going. (Note to all bosses: I’m willing to keep experimenting with this if you’re willing to give more random days off.) I don’t mind not knowing what day it is because I’ve had a long weekend, but it does mess up my thinking sometimes.

That said, January and February have more random days off, but I never feel as off center then as I do in October.

November generally settles down and I feel a lot better. Even when I have my birthday.

 

 

 

A Business Run Like a Government Office Run by Committee

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Today I took She Who Must Be Obeyed and our youngest daughter to Tokyo Skytree to make up for not taking them back in August.

Although we had a great time, even with a foggy view, and I even walked across the dangerous death glass floor twice, the trip was complicated because Tokyo Skytree is run suspiciously like a government office with half-nods to high tech but nothing that could be described as a full-nod.

First, we decided to see if we could reserve tickets on Sunday night for Monday. It turns out that all reservations have to be made three days in advance or they can’t be made. In the era of the internet, I do not fully understand the reasoning behind this.  Because it’s off season, every day for the next two months shows a circle, which means there are lots of tickets available, however, rather than providing a convenience, the Powers What Are at Skytree would rather have you stand in line.

This brings out something else I don’t understand: reserved tickets are 500 yen more than non-reserved. By shutting down the computer reservations, the Powers What Are at Skytree are actually losing money. Adding to the fun, reservations can only be made with Japanese issued credit cards meaning the tens of thousands of foreign visitors arriving every year have to stand in line.

Once we got in line, there was another odd thing I didn’t understand. Although the “maze” started as the usual narrow path, it suddenly opened up to four or five people across before eventually squeezing back down to a narrow path. This allowed people who’d got in line later to cut the line with the full blessing of the Powers What Are at Tokyo Skytree.

Imagine a Department of Motor Vehicles line that suddenly opened up and let people cut the line. It wouldn’t end pretty.

I suspect this is because Tokyo Skytree’s main purpose is to broadcast terrestrial digital television not to provide entertainment for tourists, especially those from outside Japan. Tokyo Skytree was funded by Tobu Railway (who I’m guessing provided the property) and a coalition of six television networks headed by NHK. It’s the NHK connection that I think is telling. NHK is a “publicly owned” and “independent” corporation that everyone is technically, sort of, supposed to support via fees that are technically, sort of mandatory. Its annual budget has to be approved by the government.

This means there’s no real interest in making Tokyo Skytree user friendly. It will continue to exist even if no one visits it. And, in defense of the Powers What Are, a lot of people visit it every year despite the annoyances.