Category Archives: Life and Stuff

This Friday is Not Black

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To this day I find it very strange that I only miss about half of the things that go on during a a US Thanksgiving. Well, maybe two-thirds.

Although Japan has Labor Thanksgiving Day on November 23rd, it’s mostly just a day off and not that big of a deal. For the US Thanksgiving, I’m working and keeping track of players in my NFL fantasy league.

I do miss spending time with family as we stuff ourselves blind. I definitely miss pecan pie, although She Who Must Be Obeyed can make a terrific one (once we take out a personal loan to buy all the ingredients). She can also make some terrific pumpkin tarts (pies are too difficult as Japan has not discovered pre-made pie crusts) so she makes smaller versions.

For a meal we usually load up on chicken, cheese, bread and wine (or beer) and She Who Must Be Obeyed makes mashed potatoes. It is possible to get turkey if we order it in early October, but we don’t have an oven big enough to roast it and the neighbors would freak out if I started a fire and tried to deep-fry it. (Actually, She Who Must Be Obeyed would probably freak out some, too, now that I think about it.)

I also miss falling asleep watching football–aka “spending time with the guys”. I also remember going to see movies in the evening once a few of us got tired of all the “family time”. (I miss spending time with the family only to a certain point.)

I definitely miss the turkey sandwiches made from leftovers.

I don’t miss the endless loop of Christmas songs, especially as the Christmas shopping season apparently begins in early July now. I don’t miss all the Black Friday nonsense. Keep in mind, Black Friday hadn’t yet become a contact sport when I was in the USA, it was just crowded and cranky. Keep in mind, though, I typically never bought Christmas presents until the last minute, so I only experienced Black Friday a few times.

Japan’s Black Friday doesn’t happen until after New Year’s Day. It’s quite frightening when it happens. (But that’s a future post.)

Fifty Miles Afoot Afloat Like It Or Not

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Back a few hundred years ago (give or take) when I was in the Boy Scouts in Colorado, a few us brave young men set out on an epic quest to hike 50 miles over Rabbit Ears Pass, do a day of service and bask in eternal glory. Two days later we were begging to go home but no one would let us.

I vaguely remember we had prepared and distributed various foodstuffs. (I remember peanut butter in a tube and fake potatoes for some reason.) After we assembled at the starting point, the hike began with a gear check that involved scout leaders convincing us that things like portable games and large books wouldn’t be as useful on the trail as something like water.

They also tried to convince a few hikers that jeans and a long sleeve shirt would be more useful in the woods than shorts and a t-shirt.

We started the actual hike with lots of energy and maintained it through a marsh area that is apparently the birth place of all mosquitoes. (Luckily, country mosquitoes aren’t as fast as city mosquitoes and it was possible to kill four or five in one slap.) We also maintained it through the revelation that the maps being used by the leaders apparently predated the actual formation of the mountain which, as you might imagine, kind of complicated the path.

I don’t remember where we camped the first night, but by the time we reached a US Forest Service campsite on day two (or maybe day three, I don’t remember), we were all pretty much like “Well, we’ve proven our point. That’s enough manliness for us. Time to go home.”

Unfortunately, our scout leaders played a dirty trick on us by having our parents waiting for us at the campsite. Our parents’ only job was to tell us they weren’t going to take us home. Even my own mother was like “Suck it up you little pussy. Stop whining and act like a man. The only way you’re getting home is through the forest. I don’t care if your feet fall off while you’re doing it.”

For the record, my mother never actually said that, but it was STRONGLY IMPLIED.

In order to earn the 50-Miler Award, we were also required to do 10 hours of service. That meant the next day we helped park rangers clean and maintain the camp. This turned out to be a lot harder than we expected. By the end of that day we were all pretty much ready to get back on the trail and wait for our feet to fall off.

The rest of the hike was mostly uneventful, except for having to change paths because the main road was blocked by an endless series of fallen trees. We finished with a burst of energy and a sense of accomplishment. We also got a patch (and a lingering distrust of adults and park rangers).

The Apple Falls at the Last Minute Near the Tree

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She Who Must Be Obeyed was angry at our oldest today. Naturally, it was my fault.

This is the time of year when pressure hits from school and, in our oldest’s case, her clubs. It’s exam time, study time and, for reasons understood only by music teachers, performance time in brass band club and with her piano lessons. Eventually, something gives, and that something has been studying. Or at least our oldest thinks that’s what’s going to give.

She Who Must Be Obeyed entered an epic rant backed up by evidence and displayed for a jury of one (me). Her evidence was our oldest’s study charts. Basically, two weeks before exams, each student is given a sheet of paper that acts as a planner. They are supposed to map out their study schedules and then record their actual study time.

She Who Must Be Obeyed pointed out that according to her schedule, our oldest tended to study a little at first and then (LOOK HERE!) she studies a lot in the last few days before the test. (It is STUPID. It doesn’t make sense!) She had two tests worth of proof and two blank days with no studying on the current schedule.

It was at this point that I placed the blame on nature rather than nurture. I pointed out that our oldest’s schedule pretty much matched my normal study schedule:

Deny, Deny, Deny, Panic, Deny, Panic, Accept, Stay Up Late, Study.

In fact, that pretty much describes every paper I wrote at university. (Except you have to add “research” before and after “Stay Up Late” and change “Study” to “Write”.) We’ve helped her skip past a couple of the “Deny” phases by confiscating and hiding her Nintendo 3DS, but this has added a level of “Anger” and “Terrible Twos” to the mix.

Naturally, this tendency toward putting off the inevitable has been part of my genetic contribution to our oldest’s psyche and will have a great influence on her as she enters “The Age of Perfect Knowledge of Everything (and my parents are stupid)” (ages 14-25). I told She Who Must Be Obeyed that our oldest would eventually grow out of it. (Since girls develop faster than boys, she’ll probably grow out of it before I do.)

She Who Must Be Obeyed didn’t consider nature a valid excuse. I’ll worry about that later, naturally.

 

Just Because You’re Sick Doesn’t Mean They Aren’t Out to Get You

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When the issue is carefully examined, there’s little doubt that my children are trying to kill me.

They don’t necessarily realize they are doing it, and the way they are going about it is quite inefficient, but they are doing it nonetheless.

This is partly my fault, as I allowed them to 1) go outside and 2) attend school. (Yeah, there’s that “send your kids to school or you go to jail thing” but that just means the girls have accomplices.)

While they are out, especially when they are in school, the bring home lots of germs. Those germs are then transferred to She Who Must Be Obeyed who then transfers it to me. (Does that make her an accomplice too? I’ll have to think about that.) In fact, the most colds I’ve ever got happened in rapid succession after our oldest started kindergarten. The illnesses tapered off a bit and then our youngest started kindergarten and the cycle of illness started again.

Now the culprit is their selfish desire to “go outside” and “do things” and “have their parent’s watch”. The result of this is that She Who Must Be Obeyed and I travel to various crowded facilities where we are exposed to illnesses from other children and their parents, illnesses we’ve not yet developed immunity to. (The other families are out to get me too?)

Yesterday, for example, we went to a Rhythmic Gymnastics competition with our youngest. Today, I’ve got a fever and received a couple visits from my “Albanian Friend“. I had to cancel my karate class, which angered my karate sensei (who recently discovered email but hasn’t learned to spend all his time on his phone checking it).

Now, I’m putting this post out early so that I can get some sleep. I’m not sure I like doing that, though, when our girls are still awake.

I’d tell them to go to bed first, but that would just earn me an eye roll, from pretty much everyone else in the room.

 

The Panic Caused By Old Things

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Last week our oldest came home from school in a panic. The panic was caused by technology and it was partly our fault.

The week before our oldest asked us if she could take our “new” video camera to school to record brass band practice. (Note: New, for us, means “made in 21st century”.) We, of course, said no. We weren’t going to let her take the camera to school, especially for something that wasn’t important.

She, being a teenager, thought that asking us several times in slightly different ways would make us change our mind. Oddly, it didn’t. Instead, we compromised by sending our old video camera, complete with our last unused cassette to school with her. She Who Must Be Obeyed gave her a quick overview of its use and off to school she and the camera went.

Then, around lunch time, our oldest came rushing into the house in a panic. She did rapid fire explanation that sounded something like the “feinahattoistuhyutuuhysonocamwewoerastosot.” To which I replied, “Why are you home from practice?” Eventually I realized there was something wrong with the camera, but our oldest was in such a panic she just kept repeating what she’d said before. I checked the camera and everything seemed fine.

Our oldest, however, being a teenager and therefore assuming I must be an idiot, ignored me and took She Who Must Be Obeyed’s point and shoot camera. An hour or so later, our oldest came rushing back with an explanation similar to the one before. This time, for some reason, there was no sound on the playback. My response was “Why are you home from practice?”

Eventually, our oldest went to practice and stayed there. When she came home the third, and only official time, I passed her off to She Who Must Be Obeyed who, after some time, finally diagnosed the problem: Our oldest has only ever handled a digital video camera. She didn’t know you had to rewind the tape on an analogue camera before you could watch the recording.

With that solved, we got to watch the recording. That left us with two problems: 1) We couldn’t transfer it to computer for her and 2) we still don’t understand why the point and shoot didn’t record sound.

The Ugliest and Most Expensive is Always the Fit

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Every now and then I think Cody Lundin has the right idea and that I should just walk around barefoot. But I only think that when I try to buy shoes here in Japan.

Oddly, despite my height (and on occasion my weight) I can buy most of my clothes here in Japan. I have to watch out for sleeve and trouser leg length, but otherwise, except for jackets and coats, clothes shopping isn’t that much trouble.

There is, however, apparently a law in a room somewhere in Japan that declares that no Japanese foot shall be longer than a size 11 US. Unfortunately, I wear a size 12 1/2, which basically means I have to buy a size 13. (Yes, I pretty much resemble a tall person wearing short skis once I have my shoes on.)

For many years I still held out hope that I could find shoes my size in a regular shoe store but my hopes were dashed around 98% of the time. I took this to mean I have a 0% chance of finding reasonably priced shoes that fit. (2% totally equals 0%. Look it up.)

In most cases, the only shoes I could find that fit were either 1) ugly 2) expensive or 3) ugly and expensive. I remember looking around one store and then asking the clerk for certain shoes and being rejected every time. I finally asked if he had anything in a size 30 (my size in Japan) and he frowned a bit and then led me to a pair of silver and purple quilted Nike high-tops. They were so bright I’m pretty sure they could be seen from space. Since then I’ve learned that, in every shoe store, the ugliest and most expensive shoes will always fit me.

There are, however, a few stores that cater to large feet, but this creates a series of dilemmas:

1) The main store I use, Big-b, (link is Japanese) has an odd selection and can be expensive, especially for formal shoes. I not only have to pay a lot, I have to travel to Tokyo.

2) Buy the ugly shoes and a can of spray paint.

3) Order from the USA, but run the risk of buying shoes that don’t fit. This means I’m limited to brands I know have consistent sizes–Rockport, for example–which means I have to pay a lot for the same-old boring look. I also have to do some math.

4) Keep wearing a pair shoes until they are falling apart and held together with duct tape and super glue and buy shoes the next time I visit the USA. Unfortunately I’ve been told this doesn’t look very professional and can be rather stinky.

Every time I visit the USA, I come back to Japan with several pairs of shoes. Someday the customs guy is going to accuse me of being a shoe salesman.

And The Pain Was Brought

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Two days ago I wrote something so crappy it almost made me kill a project.

As I’ve written before, because I don’t have enough to do and am a total moron, I decided to try National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) on top of this blog and my job. The results have been mixed.

First, it’s clear that in it’s current state, the “novel” may not make it to 50,000 words which means it doesn’t count as a novel. This is partly because the nature of NaNoWriMo seems to make you either over-write or under-write in order to meet the quota.

Second, in order to meet the word quota, I’ve been tolerating stuff that I know will eventually have to be cut. I’ve gone back and rewritten a few scenes to flesh them out but that’s caused other passages to be out of place and, in the case of a couple scenes, irrelevant. However, if I cut them out, I have to do that much more work to replace them.

Third, I am, on occasion, capable of producing scenes that are nothing but crap. I wrote three pages of one scene before stopping myself and going “really, DL, really?” I had to stop writing and think a lot more about the project. The next day, though, I rewrote the scene before the crap and wrote a scene after the crap that, mercifully, made the crap scene unnecessary. In fact, the scene has the unique pleasure of being both unfinished and useless. However, I’ve left it in at this point to keep the word count buffed up.

Thus far, for me, the most useful parts of NaNoWriMo have been 1) the discipline of making a regular time to write; 2) using free time to write instead of waste time; and 3) as a source of at least two blog posts, with at least one more to come.

I’ve missed the quota three times, including today and am now a couple hundred words behind “par”. Luckily the weekend in approaching and I can catch up.

However, the novel’s still on track to be too short, which means I need to sit down and re-rethink it. Which, unfortunately, doesn’t count toward the word quota.

Old Money and New Money and Confusion

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Yesterday I talked about how living overseas can turn you into a minor currency speculator. Today I’ll talk about how, when I was in Albania, the Albanians clung to their old money but accepted new money.

When we got to Albania, one of the things we were warned about was the difference between Old Lek and New Lek. Basically, in 1965 or so, the then dictator Enver Hoxha (“xh” is pronounced “J” as “jump”) revalued the Lek and introduced new notes and coins. The new value was 1 New Lek for 10 Old Lek. If you had 10,000 Lek in the bank it suddenly had a value of 1,000 Lek.

The problem is the Albanians, being stubborn and prone to keeping their history close and alive, continued to price things in Old Lek and refer to them in Old Lek but would accept the New Lek value. For example, if the street vendor said “30 lek” he would take 3 lek. If the shopkeeper said “100 lek” she would accept 10 lek.

Adding to the confusion, the price tag on something you’d asked about would say 20 Lek, but the vendor would say “That’ll be 200 lek” as he handed it to you.

Note: When I was there $1 US = about 105 Lek.

It got confusing but most vendors, to their credit, were honest with us. With a couple exceptions.

For example, when we first got to Albania, one of my fellow volunteers payed 250 lek for rice (or some other kind of food). Our language trainers’ faces turned very sour and they made him take them to the vendor so they could help him get his money back. The price was actually 25 New Lek, but had been quoted in Old Lek.

In my case, I remember being confused about if the Chinese-made fountain pens I was buying were 150 lek each or 15 lek each and the vendor seemed to be encouraging the confusion. I gave the vendor 30 Lek and he seemed satisfied.

Of course, part of the problem was that we were seeing the prices as cheap, even when quoted in Old Lek. Despite that, we were instructed not to drive up the prices of goods by paying Old Lek for them.

 

International Financial Speculation on a Small Scale

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Note to family and friends: With a weak yen, it’s a great time to visit Japan.

Every country, for the most part, is trying to ruin their currency. Unfortunately Japan has momentarily succeeded.

First you have to understand that when you move to a foreign country you are given a handful of funny looking bits of paper they call “local currency”. The problem is, you have no frame of reference for it and your brain immediately defaults to your home currency. I remember during our orientation in Tokyo that speakers would describe something as 20,000 yen and we newbies would be like “whaaasat?” and they’d say that’s about 180 dollars and then the people from the British Isles and/or Australia would be like “whaaasat?”

Once you learn the money, it becomes second nature and then you give a talk to newbies and they go “whaaasat?” when you mention a computer costs 90,000 yen. However, except for that case, you don’t even think much about the dollar or pound value. You just live and use the local currency.

However, if your goal is to send money back to your home country, you immediately become a minor currency speculator. You analyze whether or not you should send your 200,000 yen home now when it’s worth 1,800 dollars or wait and risk the yen weakening and your 200,000 being worth only 1,700 dollars. But if the yen strengthens, your 200,000 yen is worth 1,900 dollars.

This is important because your salary never changes but its value in your home currency can change a lot, as can your bragging rights. When I first came to Japan I had a 300,000 yen per month or 3,600,000 yen per year salary that didn’t change for three years. This is how the value in dollars changed each year. (I’m including the value when I finished that job in 1999.)

1996: $34,286 per year
1997: $30,000 per year
1998: $27,692 per year
1999: $35,643 per year

Just three years ago that same salary would have been $47,368.

The other thing you become aware of is why countries are trying to ruin their currencies: Stuff. By weakening your currency you increase exports (albeit by driving up inflation and making your country a crappy place to do business but at least someone’s getting rich).

As an expatriate, though, you get really good at price comparisons and adding in tax and shipping to decide if buying local is better or if importing is worth the money, the effort and the wait. For example, three years ago if you wanted to buy a laptop and the price was $1,000 in the USA and 100,000 yen in Japan, it would be worth the time, effort and wait to import to Japan because $1,000=75,000 yen, a savings of 25,000 yen or $328.

Now, however, that same $1,000 laptop would be 115,000 yen to import but only 100,000 yen to buy in Japan.

A couple years ago, I purchased a couple bags from an online retailer here in Japan. Soon after I made the order the yen started to get weak and the retailer cancelled most of my order. I suspect they were importing products from the USA and taking advantage of the margin they got by selling in yen. Then, suddenly the margin disappeared along with my order.

Confused? Welcome to my world.

Edited on 11/8-2014 for clarity.

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.