Category Archives: Life and Stuff

Snappy Clicky Pointy-Shooty Things

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Another thing you can blame on my father is my interest in cameras and photography.

For a few years, dad ran a photography business on the side and gave me my first camera: a Chinon, which is Japanese for “piece of shit with lens”. (No, really, look it up.) I don’t remember the type, although it was probably a CM-3 or a CM-4, but what I mostly remember is not liking the zoom lens he gave me.

Eventually, and I don’t remember when, he gave me a Canon AE-1P, which was a much better camera and pretty much solidified my interest in Canon cameras. I used it off and on through university and two trips to England and into the Peace Corps where, in two years, I only took a handful of rolls of film.

(Note to people under a certain age: cameras used to be loaded with rolls of silver-embedded strips of celluloid that, through a chemical process, recorded light and, through another chemical process, could be printed as pictures.)

(Another note to people under a certain age: People used to print pictures and display them on their walls.)

Eventually, I moved to Japan and, surrounded by lots of new camera toys–including a six-floor camera store full of them–I rekindled my interest in photography. I used the AE-1 more and bought a cheap twin-lens Texer Auto Mat medium-format camera. Also, after watching a late-night TV show about Yasuhara, a small camera company making rangefinder cameras compatible with Leica lenses, I made my first large internet purchase and got on the waiting list for T981(Ichishiki). I liked that camera a lot, but mostly for the Leica lenses.

However, our oldest arrived and brought with her increased demand for more and more and more photos. When she suddenly became mobile, and harder to keep in focus, I traded in a bunch of stuff and upgraded to an autofocus Canon EOS 1V which was a professional level camera and remains one of my favorite cameras ever.

Although I liked the 1V it was too heavy to carry around, so I bought my first digital camera, a Concord Eye-Q 5062AF which was reasonably priced at 20,000 yen (about $180 at the time) and took great pictures in daylight. (It was useless in low light.) The important thing about this camera was it showed She Who Must Be Obeyed the usefulness of digital cameras, especially when all we had to do was take a picture, upload the files and send them out to friends and family to alleviate the constant threats of violence (all, it should be noted, directed at ME, not at SWMBO. #yesatme).

Several years ago I finally took all my analog camera equipment (which at the time included the EOS 1V, the Texer, the Yasuhara and three of the cameras my dad had owned when he had his business) and traded them in for Canon EOS Kiss Digital X (known as the Digital Rebel XTi i North America because what guy would buy a camera called Kiss if it didn’t have demon paint and a large tongue and couldn’t bite the heads off bats?)

Since then we’ve been 100% digital and have saved a fortune on developing costs, except when I found some old film in a box back in the USA. I bought a Canon PowerShot G9 because I got tired of carrying the Kiss in my bag (which, I realize, sounds kind of dirty) and bought She Who Must Be Obeyed a digital camera she, quite frankly, has zero interest in. (Her basic argument is that it’s my job to take pictures, not hers. End of argument.)

I still try to remember how I got by with only 24 or 36 pictures at a time and try to imagine what covering a sports day here in Japan would be like with a film camera. I do miss the EOS 1V, but don’t miss the size.

In fact, the only thing I truly miss from the film days is the little canisters film came in. They are great for carrying change and storing small things.

Wired Wi-Fied Connected Always in a Crowd

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When I was in the slow process of smartphone shopping, my colleagues kept emphasizing how the phone–whichever one I chose–would change my life. They said it would be like a new addition to my family that would consume my time and slowly but surely consume my attention. I pointed out that I’d already had some of that experience after I got an iPod touch and started using it to check my email rather than wait for the squirrels in my old Windows desktop to wake up, smoke a cigarette and climb on the big wheel. They said, no, I would never be the same.

As you might imagine, none of this worked well as a sales pitch. Although their voices said it all as humorous warning, the cult-like gleam in their eyes said “join us join us join us join us join us”. What made it worse wasn’t even their fault: the introvert in me was pretty much going “we don’t join groups we don’t join groups”.

After I bought the phone they started chanting “we accept him we accept him one of us one of us gooble gobble”

Smartphones pose an interesting problem for introverts. Being connected to people via computers and email is no problem, because it’s easy to step away from the computer. Laptops in your bag have to be turned on. A regular cellphone is no problem because, except for a lesser ability to send text messages, its primary purpose is to make phone calls and no one actually uses cellphones or smartphones to make phone calls anymore which means you can still be alone.

Smartphones, though, provide a much different level of connectivity that is almost like having too many friends and family members living next door and across the street and upstairs. If someone has a question, they just hop over for a few minutes and an hour later they finally get to the question. You can be hit with text, chat, social media, social media chat, pictures of someone’s lunch, pictures of someone else’s lunch on the train platform, tons of pointless political bullshit–because the topics that aren’t discussed in polite society can be summarized in a meme or an article and quickly posted with no actual discussion.

It’s all vaguely fascinating, and it teaches you a lot about your family and friends but we introverts are, in many ways, selfish. We want interaction on our terms and I imagine a great many of us are looking for that dark corner in  the social media night club to hide in for a while.

Whilst we’re hiding there, we can check Twitter and Facebook.

A Beautiful Game of Two Halves and Lots of Divers

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For reasons I don’t fully understand, I’ve always had a strange connection to soccer. Jim Millinder, my cousin twice, or thrice or quadrice (?) removed was on the US U-20 team in 1976 and played in the now defunct North American Soccer League and the Major Indoor Soccer League and has had a long career as a coach.

When I was in elementary school, as I’ve mentioned before, some NASL player from Europe (or some other place with funny accents) visited Hayden, Colorado on a publicity tour and taught us a few things about the game and patiently answered our questions. (My brilliant question: Why do goalies wear different uniforms?)

Then, at university, mostly because someone held a gun to my head, I played intramural soccer with my fraternity. I played defense and my only skills were 1) the offside trap and 2) getting burned spectacularly by anyone with even basic soccer ability. Also, the one time I played forward I verified the ability of my, um, naughty bits to withstand blunt-force trauma which, in its own odd way, is a skill.

I bring this up to establish my bonafides because today marks the start of the World Cup which is, to my eye, a very schizophrenic beast. First, it’s divided into two halves: the group phase and the elimination round. This is because, after four years of play, the powers what are at FIFA still can’t figure out who the best 16 teams are so they invite 32, put them into eight groups of four and let them play each other. The problem is, that once a team has qualified, they pretty much stop playing in order to preserve their best players and keep them from getting penalties. This means there’s at least one game with lots of running about hither and thither in the field, but not much of interest going on. The best 16 teams then play a single elimination tournament that is actually quite entertaining because, at long last, after four years and three extra matches, every match finally counts.

The other problem the World Cup has is the tendency of players to take a dive every time an opposing player gets near them and/or uses harsh language. This slows the game down–remember, all they are doing is running around in a field anyway–and, quite frankly, makes the best players in the world look like a bunch of shin-grabbing wussies.

I would, therefore, like to propose a few changes to help spice up the World Cup and make it more interesting, especially if the powers what are insist on keeping the group phase.

First, if any player takes an obvious dive, the referee is authorized to kick the body part being clutched by the crybaby poser.

Second, any player who falls down and acts as if he’s been shot in the face, will actually be shot in the face by the referee.

Third, the physical red cards will be eliminated and replaced with Tasers to eliminate excessive protesting by player being sent off.

Fourth, the offside rule will be eliminated, but the defenders and the goalie will be authorized to use body checks, holds and trips to defend the goal.

Fifth, penalty kicks will begin with the goalie and the kicker sitting back to back halfway between the ball and the goal.

Sixth, rival countries may use any World Cup match to officially resolve any territorial disputes.

Seventh, during the slow part of the group phase, or during outbreaks of boring defensive play, cameras will immediately switch to identifying attractive people in the crowd. The team with the most attractive fans may add two goals to their goal differential.

Eighth, as used to be tradition, at least one half of each match will be played rugby football style.

I think these suggestions speak for themselves and I look forward to seeing them implemented in 2018, especially if I can get myself appointed FIFA commissioner in time.

Forgetting About the Sun

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Because it’s one of those rare moments where the Season in Which it Rains actually meets Rainy Season, the last several days have been dark, gloomy and rainy here just outside of Tokyo. Today, though, the sun actually came out, which immediately prompted rounds of obligatory silly jokes from me and She Who Must Be Obeyed:

Me–There’s a large golden ball in the sky! What is it?
SWMBO–It’s the sun.
Me–There’s no such thing as the sun! It’s a story created to scare children.

or

Me–Can you believe it? It’s actually sunny.
SWMBO–It’s not the real sun. It’s a fake sun. It’s just a big lamp.

One of the striking things about suddenly seeing the sun after several days is you suddenly realize you forgot the sun and forgot what everything looked like in bright light. Today, especially, the rain stripped away Tokyo’s white summer sky and we had brilliant blue again. It’s funny, but you forget the contrast and the shadows and light. Seeing it all again, especially when the morning was rainy, is a jolt to the senses and you really do feel a bit happier and more energetic.

I bring this up because a friend of mine is currently in and out of a cloudy time in his life. He’s had some recent disappointment and, as I’m prone to do, he worries about things over which he has no control but which are very important to him. He is also prone to denigrate himself over the past and to talk himself out of success. (I sympathize on both of those.)

As a result, he tends not to see what a great guy he is. I personally rank him among the few people in the world I want to be more like. He’s one of the few men I’ve ever met that people genuinely want to see succeed. He’s one of the best read people I’ve ever met–especially with contemporary novels–and yet doesn’t come across as a snob, even when he’s skewering one of your favorite authors. (He’s merciless and dismissive; just not snobbish.)

When he starts meeting people at a party, they usually take an instant like to him. He forms friendships fast and most of those friendships are long-lasting. He’s got a remarkable ability to read people and summarize what they are really like. If he doesn’t form a long-lasting friendship, it’s because he’s seen something in the other person and they’re not worth his time and energy. More than once I’ve heard him describe a person and thought “yeah, that’s exactly right.” He’s so good at this, I actually have a list of people I want him to meet just so I can see his reaction and hear his summary.

However, he tends to dwell on those parts of himself he perceives as not being part of a great guy. Those of us who know him and care about him often want to grab him and shake him but we also know that’s not going to work with him (a true gentleman he may be, but he’s stubborn and can most likely deliver a hell of a Glasgow Kiss).

I think I speak for a lot of people by saying I hope he can learn to see himself they way other people see him. That he can learn to roll with the things he can’t control, however important they may be to him. That he realizes how smart and talented he is and that despite one setback he is worthy of success. We also hope, however dark and gloomy he may feel at times, that he never forgets the sun.

You Never Forget Your First Unrealized Technical Engagement

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The US Peace Corps, whether it will admit it or not, has two basic mottos: “The toughest job you’ll ever love” and “For God’s sake, don’t embarrass your country.”

Therefore, one of the things the Peace Corps cautions you about is that you are expected to obey local customs involving courtship. This means that if you are caught “knowing someone” in a Biblical sense and her father invokes local laws, you are pretty much bound to obey them, especially if you are unable to escape the country in time. If this means buying her family seven cows, you will be expected to buy her family seven cows. If it means an AK-47 wedding, congratulations, welcome to the family. What stupidity hath brought together let no one tear asunder. Live long and prosper.

However, you expect all of this to be an active process. You don’t expect to blunder your way into it.

In my case, my host family basically set me up, as an “English teacher,” with one of their cousins (let’s call her Kay). She was 19 years old and gorgeous; I was smitten (and in culture shock) and we started having English classes. At first my host sister sat in with us, but eventually she would excuse herself and leave us alone. After a while, I started meeting Kay at an office building for private lessons and we even had an adventure escaping the building when we got locked in once.

Eventually I was invited to Christmas dinner (keep in mind, I’ve only been in the country five months at this point) and they let us spend lots of time alone.

Now, I’m convinced there are two kinds of people in this world: those who have a clue, and those who don’t. When it comes to women (actually, all personal relationships now that I think about it) I fit in neither category. I’m pretty much beyond clueless and often don’t see what’s going on around me. This is especially true when you throw in culture shock and a vague sense of being used for a blue passport.

Kay and I saw each other off and on after that, and then pretty much stopped seeing each other. I kind of missed her, but had other complications to worry about: mainly moving cities and schools.

Eventually, I made friends with an Albanian-American who was invited to join the Peace Corps in-country. One day we were rambling on about politics and I invoked the notion of “He needed killin'” laws” which I stole from a comedian whose name I’ve long since forgotten. The idea was you could kill anyone who needed killin’ (He raped a baby; he needed killin’ He dog-eared the pages of my new book; he needed killin’.) The Albanian-American said that he thought I needed killin’ for dating an Albanian woman and not marrying her.

I protested that we’d never actually done anything (remember: buying cows; AK-47 wedding; beyond clueless; also Albania still has vendetta killings) but he started listing off what had happened: they’d let us be alone in and out of the house; they’d made me a big dinner; etc.) When I responded with what amounted to a clever “Yeah? So?” He said that basically meant we were engaged in the eyes of her family.

I was one part “so f@#king wha?t” and one part “do I need a gun?” and one part “Is there a gun pointing at me right now?”

In the end I just let things remain where they were. I never got over the notion that her family were interested in that blue passport, but that’s more a comment on my sense of self than on them.  There was a brief moment near the end of my service where we started hanging out again, but it was the end of my service so it went no where.

I have no idea where Kay is now. I hope she’s doing well.

 

Lightning and Thunder and Gurgling Oh My

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This one will have to be a short one, and it may even be cut short, as we are currently under a thunderstorm warning, complete with lighting and thunder. This means we might lose power at any moment (I’ve already got my blackout kit ready) and have had to move our car because the parking area fills up near the middle.

It also means I have to watch the drain on the balcony because it has a habit of back-flowing and slowly filling up the balcony. Basically, the gutters all empty out under our balcony and if the rain is too hard, the water takes a walk on our balcony. This video is something we showed our landlord a few years ago. He basically went, “yeah, interesting, great video”.

In my younger and stupider days (which contrast greatly with my older and stupider days), I used to like to go outside during a large thunderstorms. I enjoyed walking around barefoot in the rain (usually under an umbrella but not always) and experiencing the sound and sensory experience–remember I can’t smell the rain so this is how I have to enjoy it. I’d even roam around during lighting and thunder.

Then, of course, there’d be flashKAPOW moment and I’d go inside and dry off. I still enjoy going out in the rain, for the most part, but don’t enjoy the “Really, what the HELL are you doing?” looks from She Who Must Be Obeyed. Which is usually followed by tossed keys and “Since you’re out there acting like an idiot, anyway, go move the car.”

Now, of course, I’m expected to go work during the rain, which is no fun, especially as I’m expected to be presentable (well, at least be wearing presentable clothes) when I get to work. It’s also no fun getting to work in wet shoes and having to wear them all day. Yes, I know, I know, have a spare pair at work. However, Japan rarely has my size and shoes are expensive to import. Then, if it’s rainy season or the season in which it rains, I wear a second pair of shoes the next day, and get them soaked. The next three days are spent alternating between pairs of shoes that make squishing sounds as I limp around the school. (Nothing projects authority like a limp and a squish, which now that I think about it, sounds kind of dirty.)

The only good thing about it is that sometimes it rains hard enough to disrupt trains and I get the day off from work. I mean, it’s terrible when that happens and I’m deprived of the opportunity to go work. Yeah, that’s what I mean. Really.

The Nuremberg Rally of Annoying Cuteness

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Yesterday, on TV, was one of the most disturbing, yet adorable things, I’ve ever seen on television. It involved 80 young women in miniskirts and lots of chubby nerds waving glow sticks in the rain.

Before I get to that, though, I need to reminisce. One of the things I remember from when we still lived in Colorado was a short lived 1980 TV show featuring the Japanese pop duo Pink Lady. Mostly I remember them being both really cute and really bad actresses and that they sang “Knock on Wood”. I’d forgotten that Jeff Altman had been on the show and that they’d spent time in bikinis–Pink Lady, not Jeff Altman–which is something I’d normally remember. They also had a single reach 37 on the Billboard Top 40. The show was terrible and lasted only five or six episodes.

I didn’t realize until I got to japan how popular Pink Lady had been. Although they were already in their decline when they came to the USA–they broke up in 1981–when I got to Japan in 1996, even young people could still perform Pink Lady dances. (Their synchronized dances are one part aerobics and one part martial arts kata.) Here’s UFO, one of their biggest hits. You don’t need to understand Japanese, just watch the kata, er, dance. (Here’s another one from their peak era, 1977.)

One of the things foreigners don’t get about Japan is how intense the Japanese are about celebrities (called talents even if they have none). This is especially true of any groups that survive more than two years. Any group that does that begins to dominate television, including music shows and game shows. One quirk of Japanese TV is that most game shows are populated with celebrities and not ordinary people. There are lots of complicated reasons for this but that’s another post.

Very few groups, though have risen to the level of AKB48. They started out as a few young ladies performing in a small theater in Akihabara, the tech/geek district of Tokyo. Through clever marketing that played up the Lolita angle (they had a video that basically promoted “paid dates” and one that featured a soft core lesbian orgy/slumber party. Not safe for work.) They quickly grew to around 80 members and, if their expansion continues on pace, they will eventually rule Japan and the rest of the world.

One of the ways they stay fresh is to constantly rotate their lead 16 (called the Senbatsu) with members from the lower ranked groups. (Their structure is way too complicated to explain. Just think of it in terms of first string, second string, minor leagues, injured reserve.) Another trick is to involve the fans and let them vote on the order the girls should be in.

This is where the disturbing thing on television comes in. Once a year AKB48 take over a stadium and hold the Senbatsu Sousenkyou general election, which amounts to a political rally where fans can rank the girls. The girls are then forced to sit on stage until the results are announced whilst a stadium full of 70,000 chubby 20-something nerds ogle them and vote on them. The entire spectacle looks disturbingly like the Nuremberg Rally. (Here’s last years Sousenkyou; here’s the Nuremberg Rally.)

As their names are announced, each girl moves from a waiting area to her proper place on stage. The higher ranked girls get a chance to make a short speech. (Note: although they are part of the same group, the girls all have different managing agencies and are desperate to get a high rank and more exposure.) The winner becomes the official leader of AKB48 and gets a lot more air time than the others. This year’s winner was the annoyingly cute Mayu Watanabe (nickname Mayuyu). She was even dressed up like a queen (scroll down a bit) and given the chance to make a speech.

She said basically “Thanks to all the other girls, who are all still my friends and I don’t think less of them. I promise to do a good job, even though it’s a difficult job. Thanks to all of, you, my fans, who made this day necessary. Now KILL ALL HUMANS! KILL ALL HUMANS! KILL THEM ALL!” Well, that last part might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I have no doubt that if Mayu Watanabe ordered the fans to seize the parliament and throw out Prime Minister Abe they would.

A Mayuyu administration might actually be worth considering. Maybe they really will rule the world.

Floors and Floors and Floors of Stuff and Creepy

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I’m in a vaguely nostalgic mood tonight. Which means this will, most likely, lack coherence.

Growing up in Colorado, three places made strong impressions on me. They were all grandiose in, well, grandiose ways. All of them were bigger than they needed to be and all were kind of creepy.

The first place I remember is Gart Brothers’ Sports Castle. It was several levels of sporting goods squeezed in what, from the outside, looked like four.  I vaguely remember it having low ceilings–and since I was in kindergarten and/or first grade they must have been especially low–with lots of stuff squeezed in. I don’t remember why we went there, but I remember the ski machine and the golf driving range. (My dad liked skiing and golf, so that might explain why we were there.) I also remember worrying about the tennis court on the roof and what would happen if a ball went over the fence. I believe it’s now a Sports Authority, but I haven’t been there since, probably, Ronald Reagan’s first term in office.

Our favorite hang out was Cinderella City shopping mall which, for a while, was apparently the largest covered shopping center West of the Mississippi. The creepy part of Cinderalla City was Cinder Alley, which was a dark mock up of an English village that mostly contained cobblestone walkways, head shops, “Afternoon Delight” t-shirts and lots of hippies (yeah, and my family at times). Cinderella city is the first place I remember trying an Orange Julius (and being underwhelmed). One time, one of my distant cousins ate the Pig’s Trough at Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlour and there was lots of noise and beaten drums and various horns. I also remember this cousin wiping the trough clean, being accused of cheating for doing so, and creating a diaper for his spoon (which says an awful lot about this cousin and an awful lot about me for remembering that). Cinderella City now exists only as pictures on the internet.

Finally there was Casa Bonita, which is basically a TexMex theme park with average food and great atmosphere. I remember having to wait in line outside and that sometimes the lines stretched around the block. Once inside there were cliff divers, Mariachi bands, haunted wishing wells (that pretty much took our money then said we were all doomed) and lots of dark caves and hidden passages. I barely remember the food, although I do remember the little flag you had to raise to get more food and more sopapillas.

I think Casa Bonita still exists. If it does, I hope it still has places that are kind of creepy and that you think you’ll get lost in. I also hope the food has improved.

Beer Flavored Alcohol Delivery Systems

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I’ve written before about my off again on again ambivalence to beer. I’ll drink it, but it’s not my first choice. Japan, though, makes great beer. The big four brewers, Kirin, Asahi, Suntory and Sapporo all make great mass market beer and the latter also owns Yebisu, a small brewery that makes the best mass market beer in Japan.

Partly as a result of this, the Japanese consume a lot of beer. It’s common for adult students to ask how much beer I drink every night and I’ve shocked them by saying that I usually don’t drink that much. Even my in-laws don’t always get that I don’t need alcohol with every meal. (Yes, even for breakfast. On New Year’s Day, it’s tradition to drink sake with breakfast.) Every now and then She Who Must Be Obeyed or I get a craving for beer and buy a couple cans. (Pizza and curry are usually involved.) We also occasionally get a craving for wine. Some of my former students would be shocked to know that there is currently no beer in our house (and as of an hour ago, there’s no bourbon either).

However, thanks to government intervention, drinking beer in Japan is rather complicated and one should be aware that all that’s golden is not beer. The first category to be aware of is happoshu (発泡酒) or low-malt beer. This was created based on a loophole that anything made of 67% malt or more was classified as beer and taxed accordingly. The market responded by making low-malt beer that, at first, was reasonably tasty. The government responded by taxing happoshu and the brewers responded by lowering the malt content to 25% and below. As result, Happoshu flavors run the gamut from “Yeah, this is Budweiser” to “Dude, who pissed in my mouth?”

To further defeat the tax man, Japanese brewers lost their minds and created Third Type Beer from soybeans, corn and peas. The result is beer-flavored beverages classified as liqueur rather than beer and which serve as little more than alcohol delivery systems. They maintain the alcohol content, though, and are cheap. They therefore serve well as the “beer” you serve after your guests are a bit drunk and their taste buds have gone numb. (Not that anyone would ever be so, well, actually, yeah, I would totally do that.)

For me, though, this is mostly moot. Because we rarely drink, when we do have beer in the house, we usually only drink it with supper. If I’m having an after dinner drink I prefer bourbon or scotch.

But I’m weird that way. My former students would definitely concur.

Copy This Scribble That Feel the Pain

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Because I have, perhaps, an unhealthy interest in pens, it was only natural that after I came to Japan I would start playing with brushes.

Through a Japanese colleague who piqued my interest, and because I thought it would help me learn Japanese, I began studying shodo, or Japanese calligraphy. This involved acquiring some equipment (which the teacher was more than happy to sell me).  I needed brushes, a couple felt pads, a weight, some bottled ink, some ink sticks, a grinding stone and a lot of Japanese paper.

Each lesson started with me pouring some liquid ink on a grind stone and then darkening it with an ink stick. When it was ready, my teacher (whose name I’ve completely blanked on as I sit down to write this) would hand me the day’s lesson. I would then force myself into something resembling seiza and begin my practice. (To understand what it’s like to use a brush, hold a long pencil with a proper grip, but up by the eraser. Then hold the pencil straight up and down and try to write your name.)

I started with a kids’ book but she quickly realized I was serious and I moved on to higher level characters. For example, I might have these four characters: 雪山千里. I would copy them, using proper stroke order and technique (the first character has 11 strokes and starts at the top.) My teacher would then take out a brush loaded with orange ink and mark my mistakes. If I was correct, she would circle it. Eventually I’d do a test version that would be sent off to some evaluation committee that would rank me in a way similar to karate ranks.

Early on, I asked my teacher what a certain group of characters meant. She basically asked why the hell I needed to know what they meant; I just needed to copy them. 雪山千里, for example means, Snow Mountain Long Distance and apparently comes from a poem, but I’ll never know. This left me in the odd position of focusing on language simply as movement and form but not as meaning. Wondrous philosophical, that. Useless in getting a date with a Japanese woman, though. (Check it out, sweetheart, I can totally scribble the hell out of this piece of paper.)

Eventually I moved on to the cursive, or KANA, version of the characters. There was a small version, but my favorite involved a meter long piece of paper and a lot more pain as I crawled around on the floor. The cursive characters look a lot like the start of a Jackson Pollock painting when he was only dribbling black paint and cigarette ash. I still like this version the best because it has more flow and style than the block letters. Unfortunately, for all their apparent haste and sloppiness, they are no less precise than the block letters and my teacher spent a lot of time marking them up with orange ink.

In this style, I eventually earned a ranking. I even adopted a pen (er, brush) name and got an official stamp. My “official” name was 旅人道延, or Tabibito Doen (the latter pronounced very close to Dwayne). It stands for, more or less, “The Traveler’s Road Stretches.” (Another post that.)

However, after several cancelled practices on both our parts, I started attending a second night of karate instead and stopped studying calligraphy. I still have better handwriting in Japanese than I do in English. It just has no meaning.