Category Archives: Life and Stuff

Trains in a Museum With a Bit of Tongue

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I had a student who was so interested in trains that he’d memorized the gestures and phrases the station-masters used to send off trains. He also knew the announcements of every station on his route. When I gave out a map of the Tokyo railway system, he immediately knew which parts were out of date.

Oddly, for Japan, this is relatively normal behavior. At every station it’s normal to see several people taking pictures of the approaching trains and discussing how the trains look even if they are not that interesting:

A Yamanote Line train approaches. This is the kind of pictures train nerds take.

A Yamanote Line train approaches. This is the kind of pictures train nerds take. Mine is merely illustrative not nerdy.

It was therefore inevitable that a bunch of old trains would be assembled at a museum. What makes The Railway Museum very Japanese is the trains are all kept inside a temperature controlled building the size of an aircraft hangar.

Our youngest and I rushed off to this museum today and both of us were impressed. Because it was a school day, it wasn’t that crowded but there was a good collection of nerds present taking pictures of every detail of every train.

NERDS!

NERDS!

The museum is well laid out with all the trains and cars and exhibits in rough concentric circles. There’s a good mix of old and not quite as old trains and lots of displays about the new trains. Visitors could go inside most trains and experience the difference between third class, second class and first class (the latter being the one we could only look at not actually experience).

There were also several cars from the old Imperial trains which seemed fairly posh, at least from behind the floor to ceiling glass walls. Staircases led under some trains so nerds could photograph the undercarriage.

The rail yard part of the museum.

The rail yard part of the museum.

The rail yard from the other side. The Imperial trains are behind the glass to the right on the ground floor.

The rail yard from the other side. The Imperial trains are behind the glass to the right on the ground floor.

My biggest complaint about the rail yard section was that none of the drivers’ cabins were open to the public. It would have been cool to see what the world looks like from the point of view of the drivers.

On the other end of the museum is a learning center with a huge train diorama and a section where kids can play with various train related items involving physics and lights. Train driving simulators are available for those willing to stand in line. There is also a small train ride for those willing to stand in a longer line.

The final fun part is that visitors can buy boxed lunches (ekiben) from various stations around Japan and eat them on a train car. Our youngest had chicken with a side of ketchup rice. I had a Sendai specialty: breaded, deep-fried beef tongue sandwich.

Entry to the museum is 1,000 yen for adults, 500 yen for students ($8.38 and $4.19). The chicken and tongue are extra.

 

 

Making Your Time Thing is Not a Waste of Time

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Any close analysis of it will tell you that I think too much about calendars.

I’ve written before how, after years of trying to find the perfect calendar, I gave up and started constructing my own. There is a certain feeling of accomplishment that you’re carrying something you made. The feeling lasts until you realize how much time you wasted making something that was supposed to keep you from wasting time.

That feeling goes away quickly, though, I’ve found.

My main problem is that I inevitably find flaws even with the calendars I made myself. For the past few years I’ve used an A4 sized calendar made from A3 paper. I printed a 12 day pattern on both sides then folded and sewed them together. Being a masochist at heart, apparently, I wrote all the dates in by hand. A smart person would learn how to let the computer enter all the dates, but if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, well, yeah, you know how smart I actually am.

Next week's schedule. Guess where I'll be on or around the weekend.

Next week’s schedule on this year’s calendar. Guess where I’ll be on or around the 27th.

I like the 12 day format because I can write a lot in each day, but can’t write too much. I also like that I can get a full year in only seven or eight pages making it easy to carry.

The problem is that with the old system I didn’t have any overview of the year. I found myself turning the page and suddenly remembering the special event listed the very next day. Also, because the calendars are center bound and I just fold a page over, flipping and unfolding to find a past date can look a lot like black belt level origami (knowing Japan, that almost certainly exists).

What I’ve done this year is put 12 days on one page and left the back side blank. I’ve added full year calendar at the front and a monthly special events calendar behind that. I’ve then added card stock covers and left-bound it all with staples and gaffer’s tape. It makes the book thicker, but I suspect it will be a lot easier to use. I can also use facing pages for notes and random scribbles.

This format also gives me covers to scribble and doodle on.

I’ve backed it all up on computer (Google Calendar) so I can keep track of things when I’m not carrying the big book.

At least that’s how it all works this year. Next year, I’ll probably try something different.

Have fun now, because your days are probably numbered. No pun intended.

Have fun now, because your days are probably numbered. No pun intended.

Free Whiskey and a lot of Whine

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On two occasions when I lived in Niigata, I was given bottles of whiskey. In only one case did I actually say thank you. In both cases I tried to avoid drinking the whiskey.

The first time I was given a bottle of whiskey was at a Bonenkai. My then boss knew I liked whiskey and presented me a bottle at the beginning of the party. It was a decent brand and was actually James Bond approved. (It’s the second bottle down on this site.) I said thanks and tried to set the bottle to the side.

Unfortunately, it became clear that I’d have to drink the whiskey rather than beer. The attitude was You like whiskey. You have always liked whiskey. You have never liked beer. You will like the one and hate the other. Ye cannot serve whiskey and mammon. (Something like that.) This would have been fine except for the Japanese party tradition that you never pour your own drink. Instead, someone comes up to you, forces you to finish your drink and pours you another.

With beer this is not a problem as the glasses are small. With whiskey it’s like drinking a triple shot and then being poured another. I tried sipping my way through but was forced to drink down the glass at least four times. When I was able to fly and crawl across the ceiling, I finally convinced them that I needed beer.

The second time happened on a ski trip where I was having one of my brain lock meltdowns. I’d been crashed into by not one, but two soulless snowboarders (but I repeat myself) and had entered one of my “I hate you all and you all suck” brain lock meltdowns. To appease me, someone in the group asked me what I liked to drink and I said whiskey. Suddenly, a second bottle of the James Bond whiskey appeared.

This time, I was not in the mood and far beyond anything resembling gratitude. When we boarded our bus to return home, someone offered me the whiskey, but I set it aside and asked for beer. The look I got was one part “what the fuck” and one part “fuck you”. I eventually shared the whiskey with my adult class and drank it myself, but I don’t think I ever said a heartfelt thank you.

Remind me again: Why don’t I get invited to parties?

My Daily Log Book is Not My Blog

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When I want to, I can draw. I can also have neat penmanship when I want to. The trouble is, most of the time I just can’t be bothered.

As I’ve written before, I’ve had the same problem with keeping a daily diary. I’ve started valiantly many times but then slowly but surely abandoned the daily entries and, inevitably, abandoned the notebook with at least one third of the pages empty.

This year, as a way to try something different (last year’s project was this blog) and to use up thick notebooks that no longer interest me, I’ve decided to keep a daily log.

The difference between the log and a diary is that rather than writing a summary of the day when I’m too tired to care, a log is filled in throughout the day. I keep track of the weather, work, my various layers of crankiness and all my meals.

Every now and then I have an actual accomplishment to record.

I also like the log because it gives me an excuse to keep several pens inked and actually have an excuse to use them. It also gives me an excuse to use a Muji notebook I’ve had in storage for a few years.

To make the log different than anything I’ve done before, I’ve decided to sketch out the weather as silly cartoons.

More interesting than an actual weather report.

More interesting than an actual weather report.

The little cartoons aren’t great and my handwriting, especially if I don’t support the thin side enough, is worse. Still, it’s a lot of fun and it helps get a notebook that I know I wouldn’t use otherwise out of storage and into use.

There is a problem with bleedthrough on the Muji paper, but I learned to embrace that a long time ago. I even found a philosophical way to justify it:

The words in the cloud seem more profound than they really are.

The words in the cloud seem more profound than they really are. Chicken rice is the proof of that.

The log is still a work in progress and I’m going to add more sketches as I go along. Lately I’ve also been adding a short summary of the day at the end.

The problem is, once I’m done, the notebook will go into a different storage area. But at least it will have been used.

Pride Goeth Before the Sprain

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In my defense, the kick looked really good right up until things fell apart.

Yesterday I described how I’d sprained my knee by letting over-confidence become no confidence become pain. That all happened at the end of 2001 and I spent the next couple months limping around on a sore left knee. Finally, my knee healed but I’d gained a lot of weight and felt well, I believe the technical term is “blah”. I decided I should start studying karate again. I contacted my karate sensei from Niigata and he put me in touch with a sensei near where I lived.

The dojo was small, basically sensei, another student and me. I got a lot of personal training that way and picked things back up pretty quickly and my confidence returned.

Then, sometime in mid-2002 we got another student, let’s call him Mr. O. The day he started I had to show him a few things like basic punches and kicks, and then watched while my advice was corrected by my sensei. Then we did katas, one of which put lots of stress on my knees.

However, because I was no longer the new guy, I had a burst of confidence that gave way to over-confidence. Eventually, I was told to move off to the side and practice on my own while sensei worked with Mr. O. I took the opportunity to practice kicks.

After several basic kicks, I started working on my high mawashi-geri kicks. The first few, with my left leg, looked good–at the time I could have kicked someone my height in the head–as did the first couple with my right leg. On my third or fourth high kick, my left knee twisted, made a sickening “crunch” sound and gave way. I ended up on the floor swearing at myself for being stupid. (Thinking about that sound and feeling still makes me cringe.)

I sat out the rest of the lesson.

However, me being stupid, I never bothered to go to the hospital to get things checked out. I also stayed in karate for another 13 years which didn’t help my knees much. in my defense, the knee mostly healed but has become a classic “trick knee” that occasionally gives me fits.

I ended up retiring from karate for a while until I can get my knees checked out and worked on. Since I stopped doing karate, my knees have felt great and I haven’t felt the need to rush to the hospital.

But that could just be over-confidence and we know where that leads.

A Sudden Failure of Will and Skill

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The only thing more dangerous than over-confidence is over-confidence followed by the complete and utter failure of confidence.

I’ve mentioned before that I sprained my knee while skiing but I just realized (as I desperately search for a topic) that I’ve never described how that happened.

The ski resort in Nou-Machi has, whether they admit it or not, three runs: the meandering beginners’ course (that includes a couple non-beginner turns); the intermediate course and the “So, you think you’re a good skiier, eh?” course. (SYTYAGS, eh? That’s a technical term.)

The resort had been hit with a lot of snow which had left the SYTYAGS, eh? course covered in powder. After skiing a while on the easier courses, I decided to try the SYTYAGS, eh? course.

At first I did well. Powder skiing isn’t that hard, and I’d had lessons, but there’s a psychological tension when you can’t see the tips of your skis, especially when you’ve crossed them a couple times and left a number of impressive divots in the snow. Matters were also complicated by the fact it was still snowing heavily, taking away nearly all depth of field and making it hard to see the course’s surprises until it was too late to avoid them.

Eventually, I hit the hardest part of the course and started thinking about finding the “escape route” off to the right. Unfortunately, because of the snow, I couldn’t see where it was. At that point, over-confidence gave way to no confidence and I tried to finesse a part of the course I should have attacked. That led to crossed tips, a slide and my left knee doing an impressive pop as my skis stuck but the rest of me kept sliding. (My boots didn’t pop the bindings.)

Right away I knew something was wrong. (That “pain thing” is usually a big hint.) I managed to get my skis off and make a cross and a kind gentleman with a cellphone called for help. I then got to meet the ski patrol and ride down the hill in the coffin/covered sled. I was then picked up and taken to the hospital by She Who Must Be Obeyed.

Unfortunately, I chose to injure myself on December 30th and the hospital was running on a skeleton staff. (There were so few people working we couldn’t even pay when everything was finished.) My doctor, who looked only slightly older than 12 years old, told me all they could do for me was x-ray my leg to make sure nothing was broken. (Nothing was.)

Eventually my knee healed, but not before I put on lots of weight. (I’m still fairly heavy, but I used to be much heavier.)

Of course, a month after my knee healed I reinjured it showing off in karate. (But that’s another post.)

 

The Unplanned Party is Fun and Annoying

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Today was as close to a riot as I’ve ever seen a Japanese party get. It actually made we wish I’d drunk more.

First, although it was a farewell party, it was at a casual izakaya, rather than a more formal version of an izakaya which are typically dark and moody and expensive. This izakaya, though, was an unofficial hangout for the foreign staff. It was brightly lit, busy and had cheap beer: 190 yen (US $1.57) for a mug rather than the usual 500 yen (US $4.12) for the same size.

The reaction from the Japanese staff as they arrived was to look around and go “Here? Really?”

Second, we were actually in two rooms that formed an L. At least part of us would be at the little kids’ table.

Third, I couldn’t drink much because tomorrow I’m head judge at the high school speech contest and I have to 1) stay awake and 2) be coherent for at least one minute.

Fourth, there was no set menu. Usually Japanese parties are seven course affairs with various forms of salad and meat and things that are unrecognizable but usually pretty tasty. The courses arrive in waves and you find yourself (if you actually have an appetite) hoping the next dish arrives quickly. I usually grab a couple cheeseburgers at McDonald’s before I go to a Japanese party just to tide me over until enough food arrives to tide me over.

This time, though, everyone started ordering from the menu which led to the first problem that began to turn the group against itself: the izakaya was unusually slow. Some of us had been there before when it was busy but they were always diligent about getting food out. However, this time, when food finally arrived it was only half of what had been ordered.

The effect of this was that food would arrive on one half of the table and the people on that half would refuse to share with the other half who watched with longing and resentment. We also started ordering table by table rather than for the group. People didn’t get up and move to other tables to talk to the five people who were leaving. The kids table actually ended up being the youngest teachers and they had a noisy good time, although I kept pointing at them and saying “I told you kids to keep it down” and “You don’t want me to come in there.” (The latter was technically true.)

I was fascinated by it all because I’ve never been at a formal Japanese party that actually felt like a party. I only had two beers though, which meant I didn’t party much.

 

Smokin’ and Drinkin’ and Chillin’

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I spent most of the evening today smoking at a place called Chillin’.

I ended up there because today was the first of two consecutive farewell parties for the same people. Tomorrow is the official English Department farewell party but today we had the unofficial “foreigners in the department” farewell party.

Our original plan was to meet in Tokyo and go to an Irish pub because that’s what you do when you’re in Tokyo, especially if you’ve lived in Japan a long time. One of my colleagues, though suggested we go to a shisha bar called Chillin’ and smoke a couple bowls before going to the pub.

I was skeptical. The only hookah I’ve ever smoked involved “beneficial herbs that are now legal in Colorado” (a technical term) and I didn’t imagine sitting around in a haze of smoke would be very interesting without that “beneficial herb”. I thought about arriving later, when we went to the pub but ended up deciding to give the shisha bar a try. I did, however, mention that I probably wouldn’t enjoy spending the the entire evening there.

That, of course, is exactly what we did.

First we bought beer and snacks at a nearby convenience store and were disturbed to the find the bar closed in the early afternoon. We then decided to walk around and drink our beers before they got warm. (Note: walking around drinking alcohol is legal in Japan.)

Eventually we returned and the place opened and there were already people sitting around smoking.  We ordered our tobacco: Blue Mist, Spicy Chai Latte and Aloha which, now that I think about it, sound kind of like strippers’ names. I was immediately surprised by how smooth it was and how unlike a cigar, pipe or cigarette it tasted.

We were so relaxed and had such a good time we ended up staying for five hours. Eventually we sent people out for provisions (chicken, chips and beer) and we ordered more tobacco: Chocolate Cocoa; Blueberry and Licorice (which sound like desserts, not strippers). The Licorice was the best, although the Chocolate Cocoa had its moments.

There was a good crowd of Japanese and foreigners and everyone sampled everyone else’s tobacco. (We all had our own plastic mouth piece that we stuck on the hose when we smoked. This led to us trying to explain to the Japanese university students next to us what licorice was. This proved difficult as I’ve never seen black licorice sold in Japan.

Although we had a good time, we couldn’t escape the feeling that we were in the shisha bar version of Starbucks coffee. I don’t know if I’ll go back. Then again, I didn’t actually want to go in the first place so anything is possible.

 

 

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.