Author Archives: DELively

Suffer Now or Suffer Later

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Well, I freaked out at first and probably pissed off the doctor, but then things got better.

I was still kind of disappointed though.

As I wrote yesterday, today was my annual health check and I started it by making a big mistake: I looked up the possible side effects of an upper endoscopy on the internet. I therefore went into the health check worrying that I’d made a terrible mistake and was going to have bleeding and a sore throat and would passout on the way home after traveling in the wrong direction. (Something like that.)

I was surprised to see how modern the clinic was and how calm every one seemed compared to last year’s “MOVE, MAGGOT, MOVE!” attitude. The comedy, though, started when I changed into my hospital clothes. Everything  was too short. I had highwater trousers and a hapi style jacket that looked like a short sleeve version and only reached my waist. The best thing was they had airplane style slippers that actually fit my feet (I almost brought them home but they started to tear).

Every thing went surprisingly well after that. (It’s the difference between a private clinic and a public hospital). After the basic checks, though, I went for the endoscopy.

This had several steps. First I had to drink something and the nurse left me alone for a few minutes whilst whatever it was started to take effect. Then she injected some kind of anesthetic gel onto the back of my throat and I had to lean back and hold it there for a few minutes. That was hard and I sat up a few times to keep from choking. (Probably a mistake.)

When the doctor came in the nurse sprayed the back of my throat with something and the doctor started the procedure. I noticed that the nurse was behind me and wondered if she was there to hold my head. The doctor inserted the camera and, after a bit, I panicked, started to choke and pulled the tube out.

Two things happened at that point: First, I was shocked at how much tube came out. Second, the doctor started lecturing me about how many of these he’d done and that he’d trained in Germany and I how I needed to stop wasting his time (the latter was implied). I relaxed and they tried again and it all went well. But it was weird feeling the camera moving around.

All must have gone well because I was then sent to the final consultation with a different doctor. She pulled on my lower eye lids. Pressed under my ears and checked my thyroid then threw me out. The entire consultation lasted less than a minute.

I then went home and took a nice nap until I was able to eat and drink again.

This is much better than drinking barium and getting the amusement park ride x-ray treatment. That isn’t so painful at first, but you can’t go home and take a nap because you get to enjoy four hours of Constant Intermittent Explosive D (a technical term).

This does lead to a philosophical issue of whether it’s better to suffer now for a good time later or experience a good time now and suffer later.

I’d prefer to suffer now and will request the endoscopy in the future.

That said, I’m disappointed I didn’t get to watch the video of my stomach. I could kind of see it out of the corner of my eye, but I  hope they send me a copy. I know it’s odd, but I’m interested in looking at me from inside as well.

Maybe next year.

Only Bad Choices for Health

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I’m currently on a forced intermittent fast. This is because tomorrow I’ve got a health check and the check will involve a tube and a camera.

This will happen because, as the company I work for likes to point out to the people who hire them, “Dwayne is over 35” and because I’m on Japan’s national health care scheme, I’m entitled/required to take a physical every year.

One of the oddities is that it used to alternate between full physical and mere x-ray from year to year. However, the last couple years it’s been a more comprehensive check involving blood, x-rays, eye checks and peeing in cups.

Every now and then, though, I’m asked to do a stomach cancer test. There is, however, no good way to do this. Choice One is taking a gas tablet, drinking barium and getting placed on the medical equivalent of carnival ride and then getting spun, angled and rotated whilst being irradiated. That is followed by a long belch and a mad dash home before the barium solution decides to evacuate. That is followed by hours on the toilet waiting for the barium solution to finish exiting.

A few weeks after the earthquake and tsunami in 2011 I was told that I’d have to get a health check that included drinking barium solution. My response involved a shockingly profane version of “I would prefer not to”, because I didn’t want to get stuck in a train station during a rolling blackout and end up spending hours in a station toilet. Also, there was no guarantee I could get a taxi because of the restrictions on gasoline.

Tomorrow, though, I’ve opted for the upper endoscopy. I’ll get drugged and have a camera shoved down my throat. Because of that, I won’t be able to eat until sometime tomorrow afternoon and then I probably won’t want to eat as I’ll probably have a sore throat and nausea. (Remember, this is for my health.)

In the end I’ll decide which is a better test, although I suspect they’ll both leave me feeling like crap. One literally, and one figuratively, of course.

Nock Co Sassafras and Lookout–One Yearish Review

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I got a stack of pen cases about a year ago and two quickly became my every day carry cases. The others have sat unused–mostly.

The pen cases are from Nock Co, a small company in Atlanta, Georgia. I ordered their entire line–at the time anyway–of seven cases.

Several Nock Co pen cases. the Lookout is open at the back.

Several Nock Co pen cases. the Lookout is open at the back. The dark blue next to it is the Sassafras.

Although they are all well made, the Sassafras and the Lookout were the ones I liked the best. (Note: all Nock Co cases are named after mountains in Georgia.)

I started with the three pen Lookout but, me being me, quickly found that three pens were not enough. I started using the five slot Sassafras to carry a flashlight, pens, pencils and erasers. It opens like a book and has a pair of flaps to protect the pens from each other and keep them from falling out in a bag. Eventually I started carrying a different flashlight to make room for more pens. I even, and this will horrify some pen addicts, let the pens touch.

The Lookout with a meager three pens.

The Lookout with a meager three pens.

My full Sassafras load out.

My current Sassafras load out. See how some of the pens touch.

The Sassafras with one flap lowered.

The Sassafras with one flap lowered.

Of the two, the Sassfras has been used the most. I carry it to work and when I head down to Tokyo. I’ve been impressed by how durable it is. There’s a little fraying and I can already tell which corner will give up the ghost first but it looks in better shape than the much more durable Maxpedition Mini I used to use. Also, the Midnight Blue exterior doesn’t get as grungy as the khaki Mini did. (The Nock Co label, though, has begun to look a little off color.)

I was also impressed at how well it keeps the pens in place. I was worried that as it got jostled around the pens would fall out but that hasn’t been a problem at all.

The Lookout, because of the way it’s sewn, feels sturdier and feels as if it will keep the pens safer. It’s Steel exterior (Steel is a fancy word for dark gray) still looks good. My biggest complaint with the Lookout is that it can only hold three pens. It’s something designed to fit in your pocket not be flexible to all your pen needs. I use it mostly for pen overflow or as everyday carry on days I know I won’t need many pens.

The only problems I’ve had with the cases is the problem I have with all nylon products: they are not leather and will not age as well as leather. The dark color helps but I can see the nylon starting to wear and get slightly fuzzy. I looks like gray dust on the surface of the nylon. It’s also begun to feel a bit more floppy than it was before.

The Sassafrass could use a zipper to close it all the way, but I fear that would add the dangly bits I didn’t like with the Maxpedition Mini. (Note: Nock Co has been teasing zippered folios for what seems like several years now, putting the zippered folios in the realm of vapor wear.)

I still look at the other cases and try to think of uses for them. I may swap the Lookout for a Hightower that holds three pens and a small notebook. The zippered roll case Brasstown has become my pen overflow, temporary storage case, but I leave it at home and don’t carry it around.

I encourage everyone to check out the Nock Co cases. Even if you only have few pens you’ll be able to carry them in style.

The Sassafras carrying three pens and two pocket knives.

The Sassafras carrying three pens and two pocket knives.

All The Bad Suzukis

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The odds against people named Suzuki are not good, at least in the classes I teach. In my experience, at least at the school where I work, the odds of a Suzuki being bad are pretty high.

Now, I’ll grant you that this may be a math problem. Suzuki is the second most common name in Japan therefore the odds of encountering a Suzuki are high and given the normal distribution of good and bad then, well, um, no, that doesn’t explain the past at all.

About a decade ago I taught a class that had four lads named Suzuki in it. They were all bad. (Given the normal distribution of good and bad then at least one should have been good.) What was funny about them was they were all bad in different ways. Suzuki A (not his real name) was lazy and had to be coaxed into doing work. Suzuki B was noisy and had to be stapled to his chair (metaphorically, of course; the school wouldn’t buy me a stapler that large); Suzuki C was distracted by games and work from other classes and, if he had a book, it wasn’t from my class; and Suzuki D was all of the above forms of bad plus a few more.

While I was teaching the Four Bad Suzukis of the Apocalypse, we had an open class where other teachers could observe our classes. A young teacher observed my class.

Unfortunately on that particular day, Suzuki D’s usual partner was absent and he felt this meant he had the day off. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and fell asleep. I woke him up and told him to get a partner. He pointed to the empty chair, mumbled something and went back to sleep.

I woke him up again and he pointed to the empty chair again and once again mumbled something and went back to sleep again.

I woke him a third time and pointed to another lad who had no partner and Suzuki D mumbled something and went back to sleep.

I woke him up fourth time. This time he threw his arms out and shouted “nani?!” (Which usually means “what” but given his tone, was Japanese for “now what the fuck do you want/will you fuck off”) I told him to get out and he left without much more coaxing than that.

The young teacher was both horrified and impressed and, because Suzuki D was well known there were no repercussions. I don’t know what happened to him. I vaguely remember him not passing the year, but that might be my imagination.

Now, when I have students named Suzuki I ask them “are you a good Suzuki or a bad Suzuki”? They usually say good. I’m not sure I believe them. You are Suzuki until proven innocent.

Once More into the Brats

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No, this post is not a repeat of last week’s post on the same subject; rather it’s a post on the similar events as happened last week.

Today we got rain and that means the weather’s about to turn hot and the changing weather and air pressure is messing with lots of people’s heads. I got to school mostly soaked and in a bad mood.

That was the perfect setting for teaching my worst class.

Once again, they started off with the “Jason’s” and this time were more persistent about it. Once again I ignored them and went on with the class.

Things went reasonably well after that until I checked answers by having students stand up. (If you answer you get to sit down and last brat standing starts the next row). At one point, three students decided to play a game by refusing to answer. One guy even turned away. This not being my first rodeo, so to speak, I made three rows stand up which suddenly inspired faster response times.

Towards the end of the activity, a different group of three brats decided to try the same game. This time I just let them stand. I told them I had no problem making them stand until the end of class. (I stand for hours a day as part of my job so half a class is no big deal for me, but it’s torture to them.) One of the brats then tried to lead the class in the “We Will Rock You” beat. I let them do it and started working on my notes for my next class which stopped the music (although they tried it a couple more times).

When they finally realized they couldn’t out-stubborn me or piss me off enough to yell, they answered questions and got to sit down. (Note: the ring-leaders did this to their teacher last year, too.)

Their final gimmick was to refuse to memorize the conversation I told them to memorize. They took great joy in getting help or blatantly reading from the book. In this case the joke was on them, though, as I actually got all but one of them to perform the conversation, which they wouldn’t have done unless they thought they were making a game of it. (See, I know a few tricks.) Everyone who read (which was all but two pairs) earned a zero for the day but at least they spoke English.

One boy in a group of three didn’t perform the conversation as both his partner’s refused to go twice. I told them to come in at lunch (flash forward: they didn’t, but I’ll get them.)

As I left the room, I heard someone say “Fuck you” (Remember, the school where I work is nominally a Christian school). The good news is the homeroom teacher is on my side. I told him to warn them that if I hear another “fuck you” I’ll keep the class after school every night until final exams. It’ll be my own little English club as they write “fuck you” 10,000 times or spell all the numbers from one to ten-thousand.

If they think I’m joking, well, I’ll be the only one laughing. I do this kind of stuff for sport.

Name Stamps Last Longer Than Memories

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I’ve mentioned before how I spent a year or so studying Japanese calligraphy and then stopped. Before I stopped, though, I acquired a few skills along with several brushes, paper, weights, felt pads, ink sticks and grind stones.

Most of that gear has either been thrown away, sold or, in the case of the brushes and the ink sticks, passed on to our girls. The only things I’ve kept are a couple seals.

In Asia, for lots of complicated reasons, the preferred method of sealing contracts and official forms is with a literal seal. The seals, known as “chops” in Chinese speaking countries, are called “Hanko” (判子) in Japan. (That’s “Han” as in “Han shot first” and “ko” as in “coke”.)

Every family, mine included, as an official seal for official documents as do most companies. (Actually, I suspect they all do.) The official seals are made by craftsmen and the hanko is officially recorded. As I understand it, every hanko is different, even those made for people with the same last names. Those are usually round and the coolest kids, depending on your point of view, have hanko made from ivory.

Mine are made from soap stone and are the more artistic versions. They were used to sign my calligraphy works (which are buried somewhere and unavailable for reproduction). Because I was in a “this is awesome” philosophical mood, I opted for kanji and then spent time working out a proper pretentious artist’s name.

The two hanko, my cleaning brushes and the cinnabar paste next to the final results.

The two hanko and paraphernalia next to the results on Tomoe River paper (top) and Japanese washi (bottom).

The larger version reads  旅人道延, or Tabibito Doen (the latter word is two syllables and pronounced very close to Dwayne). The high concept, which made sense at the time, was that since I was travelling, I’d use the kanji for traveler (旅人) and the letters for road/path (道) and stretches (延). Thus, the traveler’s road stretches (with an implied “into the future”.) This hanko was used on larger works (the paper was about a meter long).

The small version is only the letter “do” (pronounced “doe”) and was used on smaller works.

I don’t remember how much they cost, but I also acquired a couple cleaning brushes and a tub of cinnabar/vermilion paste which is a remarkable concoction of castor oil and vermilion powder and other ingredients that has stayed usable for over 18 years.

The cinnabar (or vermillion) paste with the ox bone smoothing spatula.

The cinnabar (or vermillion) paste with the ox bone smoothing spatula. Sharp eyes will notice a third stamp.

I was surprised, after a couple do-overs, that the placement of the seals was as important as the calligraphy itself. A perfect work could be ruined by a badly placed stamp or a smudged one.

I use them now to mark the backs of my notebooks. I could make the small one my official stamp, but that would involve paperwork.

I also acquired, as a gift, a hanko hand made by a student. It has his name Nakashima (Naka) 中 and Shima (しま) with the Naka around the outside as a frame. I mostly keep it because he carved it to look like the man in Munch’s “The Scream”.

My three hanko and how they look on paper.

My three hanko and how they look on paper.

I’m tempted to have it recarved and turned into my official stamp, but it’s the only reason I remember the student’s name. Instead I’ll keep in on my desk as a way to express my mood.

 

(Note: If you’re interested in carving your own hanko, you can buy a kit here.)

(Note 2: hanko are also referred to as “inkan” (印鑑). I’ve not been able to tell if there’s a difference as they seem to be used interchangeably.)

Absence Makes the Heart Go Paranoid

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She Who Must Be Obeyed, being a mother, talks a pretty mean game: she doesn’t care about our oldest; she doesn’t care what our oldest does; she doesn’t care if our oldest eats or not; our oldest absolutely 100% does not need a phone.

Then our oldest goes to Tokyo for a concert and, She Who Must Be Obeyed being a mother, changes attitude.

Yesterday I wrote about how I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing today. Then, finally, today I learned what I’d be doing today. Our oldest’s friend didn’t cancel which meant my job amounted to going down to the Ex Theater Roppongi at about eight o’clock and escorting the two girls home.

However, this meant the two girls would be going to heart of the largest city in the world by themselves. I was like “That’s cool. As long as I don’t have to actually attend the concert.”

She Who Must Be Obeyed, however, suddenly was concerned about everything and even gave our oldest her phone in case of emergencies. I entered Standard Daddy Crisis Mode which translates roughly to “Don’t worry about it.” However, that was met with things like: “What if there’s an earthquake? There have been three this week.” “What if they get lost?” “What if they join a cult?” (Note: that last one was mentioned sometime today but I’m still not sure of the context.)

It was suggested that I escort them down (I suggested otherwise). It was suggested I follow and spy on them (Once again, I suggested otherwise). SWMBO then noticed the tickets required those under 18 to have adult permission (I suggested that an hour after the girls left was too late to worry about such things. I also suggested she call the theater and check on that).

Eventually I made it down to Roppongi and did some window shopping. (Shopping in Roppongi sucks and what doesn’t suck is expensive. It’s an entertainment district on a shopping district.) It was a pleasant evening and I ended up sitting on a bench and doing some writing and some people watching.

At eight I joined several parents who were also waiting for kids. At first I was concerned as several men about my age walked out but they seemed to have some sort of official status. Then droves of girls walked out and met the group of serious looking parents.

In the end everyone got home safely and, as near as I can tell, no one joined a cult.

Finding Out What You Know is Not What’s Known

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There are unkown knowns, known unknowns, unknown unkowns and the information dad gets. In many cases when you’re a dad the unknowns become known long after you thought you knew what was going on.

In my case, I still don’t know what’s going on. Many of the knowns are unknown and the knowns don’t make any sense.

I thought that tomorrow I would be escorting a pair of teenaged girls to the concert of some animated tv program theme song singer. My job, as I understood it, was to be on guard if the audience turned out to be a bunch of geeky men about my age. I was eventually informed that, no, the man was actually popular with teenage girls and other young women which meant I’d be leading two teenage girls to a concert where I was most likely going to be either barred from entering (Sir, someone your age clearly has no legal reason to be here so we’re walking you out) or arrested for trying to enter (Sir, someone your age clearly has no legal reason to be here so we’re walking you out.)

At best a lot of people would be playing “Daughter or Date?”.

Now, if I understand it correctly, my job is to go down to Roppongi, one of the main party areas of Tokyo and fetch the two teenage girls at the end of the concert ( 8-9 p.m.) and escort them home. This job, for the record, still doesn’t seem to keep me out of legal trouble.

Cop–What are you doing standing here foreign guy?
Me–Waiting for the concert to let out so I can pick up a couple junior high school girls.
Cop–Why don’t you take seat right over there?

That said, I still might be going to the concert. If our oldest’s friend cancels, I’ll be responsible for taking our oldest to the concert and bringing her home safely.

My job, though, is still unknown. The only thing I know is, I’m not a big fan of concerts.

 

Mothers and Fathers and Embarrassing Greetings

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To rephrase a famous line from Dazed and Confused: “That’s what I like about these mothers, man. I get older; they stay the same age.”

Today was parent’s day at the school where I work which means 1) I wore a tie and 2) parents were free to wander in and out of classes at their whim and 3) many students suddenly denied three times that they even knew their parents. (When that happened several years ago, the mother, who spoke excellent English, promised, in so many words, that her son would be punished.)

One of the things I’ve noticed over my years as a teacher (approaching 26 years, in various forms) is that because my students are always the same ages, their parents are usually about the same ages. Seventh grade parents are in their early to mid-30s and 10th grade parents are in their mid-30’s . The problem is, every year they seem to look a bit younger than they are.

It’s the same reaction you have when you see high school kids and junior high kids and 1) realize how young they are and 2) remember how old you used to feel when you were their age. (You, of course, were a lot smarter than these kids. These kids are morons.)

Complicating matters, the mothers tend to dress up and do their hair and make-up perfectly as a part of parent’s day is putting on a show for other parents. This also makes them look younger than they are.

I only had a few visitors, one of whom may have been a homeroom teacher, because the biggest turnout happens on Saturday.

Occasionally fathers show up on a weekday, but that can be a mixed blessing. Today a father committed the ultimate sin. He came into class and after a minute of resistance, walked over and spoke to his son. The other students reacted with uncomfortable laughs and I felt sorry for them both. The father stayed for most of the lesson, even during the part where students wrote conversations. But then, after a while he seemed to get bored and left for a while.

It was during this absence that his son pounced, so to speak. One of my rules is that if you perform your memorized conversation on the day of the assignment you get bonus points. As soon at the coast was clear and the father gone, the son volunteered to do the conversation (his partner wasn’t as happy but did a good job).

I understand why the son did this, but kind of wish his father had been there. It would have made him happy and made him think more positive thoughts about me (the parents are allowed to officially evaluate us). Instead I announced those who already had bonus points to let him know he’d missed something by stepping out.

On the other hand, by embarrassing his son like that, he probably deserved to be punished a little.

Next year I’ll do it all again, but the mothers will be even younger.

 

Out of Habits and Back in Again

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I don’t know if it’s stress or the weather, but lately I’ve been falling out of habits.

I’m not falling back into  bad habits (although I do catch myself chewing my eponychium every now and then) I’m just suddenly not doing old ones. I’m also suddenly unable to start new ones.

For example, for over a year now I’ve been writing 10 ideas a day as part of daily practice to keep myself writing and, on occasion, come up with some good ideas. However, this week, and maybe because it’s June, I suddenly find myself three days behind my entries. What’s odd is this hasn’t been a result of procrastination–Look at notebook; I need to write my 10 ideas; I don’t feel like it right now; don’t write 10 ideas. Instead I haven’t been thinking about them at all. I only think about them when I see the notebook in the morning.

Similarly, this past week my daily log became a diary, which is exactly what I wanted to avoid when I started the project. Rather than make entries during the day I suddenly find myself making all the entries in the evening in one made rush. In fact, I’ll do that after I finish this post. I haven’t been checking the weather during the day and, by not making entries as I go, I find I use the same non-useful language for my entries. (Okay classes; Lazy evening; Etc.)

It’s the mindlessness of it that I find fascinating. Something I’ve done for several months suddenly doesn’t enter my thoughts. This blog remains a habit, although it’s crept back into the personal and focuses less on my hobbies, but I haven’t been able to move my writing time to a more reasonable hour.

It’s almost as if my psyche and my physical system both suddenly decided to reject the new habits by completely ignoring them.

This means tomorrow’s challenge is 30 ideas. If I think of it.