Category Archives: Personal

Rules at School and the Law at Home

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Today, She Who Must Be Obeyed invoked school rules to explain why she’d confiscated our oldest’s Android tablet. I was prepared invoke my own rule that “when it becomes a problem Daddy makes the problem go away.” Unfortunately, I was already too late to make much of an impact other than point a finger and say “yeah, and don’t you forget it” at a teenager who wasn’t actually listening.

One of the things non-Japanese find difficult is the abundance of rules, both written and unwritten, involved with having a child in a Japanese school. These rules can be annoying and seem like interference in family affairs. (Which they are, sort of. You’ll see.)

For example, although there is no official curfew, students are expected to be home at a certain time. Parents take turns going out and policing parks and other popular hangouts to remind the kids it’s time to get home. If you gave permission for a child to stay out late, that gets around and you might hear about it at the next Parent/Teacher conference.

Since this week is mid-term exams at our oldest’s school, the powers what are at the school have asked students not to waste time on electronics until after the exams.

Although this seems like a good idea, I find it has a couple problems:

First, we’d already imposed our own ban. (More on that later.)

Second, the way the school suggestion is phrased, it allows for students to debate what the meaning of “is” is and argue that since they’ve studied a while they now get tablet time. Our oldest, for example, has interpreted the ban as allowing her to use her now neglected Nintendo 3DS and its limited internet access. (Her motto seems to be “No Twitter/No Life”. to which I respond with “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”)

Third, once the exams are over the assumption is that the ban is over once and for all forever until the final exams. This, however, is false as our local ban will not be over.

Since our local ban will not be over–long story involving broken charging cords; stolen power cords; tablets stolen from She Who Must Be Obeyed; passwords on all our electronics; and Line calls from friends at 1:45 in the morning–we will almost certainly be involved in a fight over the appropriate amount of time allocated for tablet use.

In the end, though, I will make it all go away as I can simply change all the passwords. However, if the problem persists I’ll find a way to configure our wireless hub to accept only certain MAC codes and reject others (say, hypothetically, those on a certain teenager’s tablet and/or 3DS). I prefer this way because it allows me to turn access on and off without having to memorize a new password. (Enforcing rules, after all, shouldn’t be THAT inconvenient.)

And don’t you forget it.

The International Bank of Dad’s Good Intentions

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At some point when our oldest was still in elementary school, I came up with this plan to teach her something about money. The results have been mixed.

The plan was to give her an allowance based on her age. She got 100 yen per month for each year of her life. When she was eight, she got 800 yen per month and then she got 900 yen per month when she turned nine.

There were also a couple rules. First, she had to save 10% of her allowance (after doing the math to figure out what that was) and she had to set 10% aside to donate to those in need. This rule also applied to Christmas cash, New Year’s Money and any birthday cash.

I started referring to the 10% donation as “money for sick people” and when I say that, She Who Must Be Obeyed immediately starts coughing and saying “I’m sick. I’m sick” and I have to hide the money and pretend she doesn’t know where it is.

In addition to all that, I founded the International Bank of Dad. The 10% deposit in the bank, along with any extra savings, earns 5% interest per month. This means 100 yen will have earned an extra 80 yen at the end of the year. (No you may not open an account with IBOD; but if you have any bailout money, please send it.)

When our oldest entered junior high I doubled the money (she gets her age x 100 every two weeks now) and scaled the interest back to something I could actually afford.

When our youngest turned eight we started the age X 100 yen per month plan.

The mixed results come from a couple things, first She Who Must Be Obeyed was amused by all this but not especially dedicated to it. It was, and is, as far as she’s concerned, my hobby and not her problem.

Also, although she did well at first, our oldest is now a teenager which means, by default she’s a Keynesian and her motto is “Spend Baby Spend”. Being a true Keynesian, she’s also taken to borrowing from She Who Must Be Obeyed for larger purchases. (It’s amazing what you can do with other people’s money.)  Unfortunately, SWMBO usually makes the loan without actually working out the terms and arguments ensue.

Our oldest also confiscated money intended to be split with our youngest, although she simultaneously denies this whilst claiming our youngest donated that voluntarily.

The International Bank of Dad has intervened in a few instances by paying allowance directly to She Who Must Be Obeyed or keeping a large portion of it and facing the brunt of the argument.

I suspect that eventually the International Bank of Dad will be forced to intervene more fully. Debtors prison (dishes and housecleaning) and confiscation (her tablet will be mine) will ensue.

 

Low Pressure Big Headache

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Typhoon Noul (aka Typhoon #6) is coming and it’s giving me a headache.

We’ve been having relatively cool weather recently, including a couple days that felt like Awesome rather than the usual Pleasant weather. This means the air was dry rather than increasingly muggy. It also means that payback is coming.

The last couple days have been cool but you could feel the humidity increasing. Only wind kept it from counting as Pleasant weather.

Today, though, we passed through Awesome to Pleasant to the Season in Which it Rains. Because of this, air pressure and gray skies have been playing hell with students and teachers alike. Also the wind has kicked up dust and pollen. We’ve been watching our youngest closely as the low pressure from typhoons has been known to trigger bouts of asthma. So far so good, but I was the one who got hit.

On the way back from work, about a 100 yards or so from the station I started to get my migraine spot. I swore a little and picked up my pace. Once I got home I downed a couple aspirin and a cup of coffee because, as fate would have it, She Who Must Be Obeyed had just made a fresh pot of coffee. (Technically, as SWMBO reminded me, that was for her not for me but in my defense, it was medicinal.)

Luckily, my ghetto treatment worked and the migraine was mild. I’ll go to bed early and, luckily, I get to sleep in tomorrow as the day after a migraine, even a mild one, leaves me feeling as if I have a mild hangover.

The other problem is that typhoons usually have to unusual effects. First they sweep the sky clean and leave it an impressive clear blue. Second, they drop off heat and humidity.

It’s enough to give a person a headache.

Once More Into the Seat

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I really should be disgusted with myself, but that would take too much energy.

Today was another in a long line of lazy days that occur more often than they should and also tend to occur when the weather is changing. (The weather’s been bouncing between warm, hot and cool the last couple weeks which has stolen energy away from everyone I know.)

The day started off strong with me actually getting up on time despite having gone to bed late. (This entry is being written on three hours sleep plus one 15 minute nap.) I made an omelet with ham, Mozzarella cheese and chopped fresh Japanese mustard spinach. (It was awesome, if I do say so myself.)

After that, I didn’t do much else that was productive. In my defense, I did proofread and rewrite a company brochure as a favor to one of my former karate colleagues. They make equipment for veterinary clinics so I learned a lot about their new animal ICU systems (link in Japanese) while trying to figure out, based on the English that was used, if I’d actually learned anything or simply misunderstood.

I also finished an online course that was interesting but nothing special and did the next module in another online course that I’m afraid will suddenly start seeming like work. (It’s a fiction course; long story.)

That took the better part of the morning and I couldn’t be bothered to do much of anything once that was finished. I played some games, watched an episode of A Touch of Frost, (which is, well, another post) and wrote random bits of stuff but nothing particularly coherent. I then cycled through all that again, leaving out the tv show the second time.

Besides the weather, I also know that June is coming and feel compelled to save my energy for the big push. Well, at least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

There was Neither Justice nor Fairness

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I don’t remember how old I was when I had to do dishes on my birthday. I do, however, remember  the blood.

We lived in Hayden, Colorado and we still lived in a trailer in Meadow Village (more on that in another post) and my sister and I were expected to alternate dish washing nights. In this particular year, it turned out that November 16th was my dishes night and November 17th was my sister’s night.

Now, to my teenaged logic, having my sister’s dishes day fall on my birthday offered me no bonus whatsoever (not having to do dishes on my birthday was nothing special if I wasn’t scheduled to do dishes on my birthday). It was no different than her having to do dishes on Tuesday after I did them on Monday. This, again to my teenager logic, hardly seemed fair. I therefore failed to do dishes on the 16th fully expecting to not have to do them on my birthday.

However, there is no justice in the world.

Rather than be granted clemency and a “Happy Birthday, Son” I was told I had to do dishes on my birthday because I hadn’t done them the night before. This is roughly the equivalent of having someone spit on the Baby Jesus at Christmas (not really, but I was a teenager so this logic made sense).

As a counter, I offered the logical argument of “Yeah, but it’s my birthday.” and was countered with “Yeah, how ’bout that” and then did dishes.

Karma then ensued. Although I’m not sure who’s karma it was.

I was cleaning a McDonald’s (or maybe a Pepsi’s) Collector’s glass (I vaguely remember it being Superman). As I washed the inside, the glass broke apart and I cut my hand.

My mom offered parental logic along the lines of “If you bleed to death, you’re not getting any birthday cake” and then offered me first aid.

To this day I feel justice was not served. The physical scars healed eventually though.

 

Let’s Go to the Mall, Today

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When I was growing up in Colorado, one of our favorite places to hang out, despite us not having much money, was a mall. Now that I’m older, malls are great places to distract the girls and pretend we actually did something when we didn’t.

Because it’s Golden Week and because She Who Must Be Obeyed worked Monday and Tuesday and because our oldest had club, we didn’t get a chance to go out until today. (I was babysitting our youngest/writing/playing World of Tanks.) Unfortunately, our oldest had her own plans to spend money so we sent her to the big city by herself whilst the rest of us went to the mall. More specifically, we went to a new mall called LaLaPort Fujimi, built just a short drive/train ride away.

The only problem with this was, because it’s Golden Week and because the mall is new, about 12 billion people (plus or minus a few hundred thousand) were going to be there. The mall actually has “heavy traffic expected” warnings on its website and the signs were not good.

We decided to take the train and then take a bus but as soon as we got to our station, there were people standing around and signs saying “Hell if we know when the next train leaves” at the front of the station after an apparent suicide somewhere down the tracks. Luckily we only had to wait 20 minutes and also luckily, the trains weren’t that crowded.

After we got to Tsuruse Station, it was such a nice day we decided to walk the 20 minutes to the mall. After we got there, there then ensued the “where should we eat/hell if I know because I’ve never been here before” discussion that usually occurs around lunch time when we’re out. (We ended up at J.S. Pancake Cafe, which turned out to be an excellent choice.)

Oddly, we ended up not buying anything other than lunch and a few things our youngest paid for with her allowance. She had fun but She Who Must Be Obeyed and I were underwhelmed. The LaLaPorts are a chain of malls around the Tokyo metro area and all the ones I’ve been to suffer from a certain sameness. They all have circular layouts designed to improve traffic flow and they all are well arranged through a complex scientific process involving a committee. (Not a joke, the committee was featured on local news/native advertising last week.)

The also have all the same stores.

We don’t have plans to go back, although it’s not that far away, even if we walk. There’s just nothing special about it.

Note: Fans of “How I Met Your Mother” will recognize the title of this post as a lyric from Canadian pop-tart Robin Sparkles epic “Let’s Go to the Mall” (Which manages to make fun of both Tiffany and Debbie Gibson.)

 

 

MY DIY Notebooks–Long Term Review

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It seemed to be a good idea at the time. And it was. Until it wasn’t.

A decade ago or so the school where I work asked us to hand out surveys to our students assessing our and their performance in class. (Many marked low scores without realizing they were marking themselves low.) Part of my game was to give out the survey at test passback classes and then, once I was safe, pass back the exams.

Unfortunately, not only did we get the results of the surveys, we also got all the surveys back to go through if we wanted. I had about 280 students or so and we did the surveys twice a year. This meant we had stacks of paper. Well, at least it meant I did. I have generally saved old worksheets as scratch paper in order to use the backsides before I throw them out. With the surveys, I had a stack of paper that got bigger twice a year.

I then downloaded a freeware program that let me make lines and set about making my own writing tablets. I printed the surveys and bunches of random worksheets I still hand on my bubblejet printer. (Keep in mind, given the price of printer ink, it would have been cheaper to pour Dom Perignon champagne on the floor.) I bound the pages with staples, covered the staples in black gaffer’s tape and, in a few cases, used an Exacto knife to create ghetto perforations to make pages easier to tear out.

The original stack of 50.

The original stack of 50.

I ended up with 50 tablets and set about using them to write novels. Each tablet had 65 pages and about 35 lines or so from top to bottom. With my handwriting it worked out to about 11,000 words per tablet and I used several of them for novels one and two.

There were, however, several problems.:

Not only could I see my shame (any poor surveys) so could anyone else who saw the tablet. Some pages had heavy ghosting from being printed with bubblejet printers. This made them hard to use.

Ghosting and, if you look real closely, you can see the results.

Ghosting and, if you look real closely, you can see the results.

My handwriting is terrible and 65 pages of my handwriting is madness. Before the school stopped asking us to do surveys, I acquired more paper, and therefore more tablets before I could finish the ones I had. The longer the tablets sat, the more they turned brown and the more the staples rusted.

Also, not only was there the ink expense, but printing them was frequently a pain in the ass that took more time than taking the train to Tokyo to buy expensive notebooks would have. Because I was using different types of paper, I couldn’t just start printing and walk away. I had to be there to undo jams and sort printed sheets from those that got fed through in clumps.

Lately I’ve been moving away from those tablets toward higher quality, more fountain pen friendly paper. I threw away a stack that had begun to turn brown and mildew. I also started tossing spare handouts in the recycle box rather than my desk. I still have a stack of tablets and several others I bound but never printed. I’ll use them to write morning pages, or to sketch out rough drafts of school assignments, but I’ll never print anymore.

A more modern stack. Now side-bound but still with staples and gaffer's tape.

A more modern stack. Now side-bound but still with staples and gaffer’s tape.

Note: The first two pictures above were first published in an article for Notebookism.

 

Out of a Closet and Onto the Floor

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Note: This post was edited to correct horrible mistakes.

Yesterday was Showa Day which is now officially named after the Japanese Emperor responsible for the attack on Pearl Harbor but used to be disguised as Greenery Day in honor of his love of plants. Most importantly, it signals the start of “Golden Week” when three holidays and an “aw hell, let’s just give ’em another holiday here” holiday all collide in the same week.

Unfortunately for me, I’d scheduled dirty work for that Showa Day and have a bit more to do on Saturday.

Basically, at long last, I’m moving the “variety pile” and attacking the stuff inside the “variety closet” and the “variety room”. My goal was to throw away stuff I know I’ll never use and save stuff I’d like to have access to but don’t need to have out right now. I then wanted to move our earthquake kit from the floor and put it on top of the wardrobe allowing access to the rest of the kit on a bottom shelf. (Confused? You should actually see the mess and try to figure out the plan behind it.)

If I were smart, I’d basically chuck out every box I hadn’t opened in months without opening them. There are, however, a number of complications.

First, I’m not that smart.

Second, part of the reason the boxes haven’t been opened is that the “variety closet” is stuck behind the “variety pile”. This makes getting at a box a much more difficult chore than it should be.

Third, I have the hoarder’s desire to handle everything at least once before throwing it out. This triggers memories and rekindles the little spark that made me keep the item in the first place which makes me want to find a place for it or swap it out with something I don’t want to use for a while but don’t want to throw out. I did, however throw away a lot of stuff and have a bunch of stuff to donate or give away via Freecycle.

Fourth, even if I don’t experience a burst of nostalgia, I often think of a new way to use the item and justify keeping it.

Finally, there were several decisions I couldn’t make until She Who Must Be Obeyed came home. (She was working on the holiday.) I wasn’t able to finish and currently have a couple extra piles of stuff on the floor, including the trash I can’t throw away because this is Japan.

In some cases, though,  I’m actually (finally) putting the items to use. Mostly as fodder for this blog. (Pictures to follow I suspect.)

My Brief History of Dance

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I was watching a video today and in the background I heard the song “867-5309 / Jenny” (you don’t have to play it, it’s already in your head) and that has me thinking about cocaine.

My only experience with cocaine happened back when I lived in Hayden, Colorado. For some reason I don’t remember there was a dance in the old elementary school gym and for some other reason I don’t remember I went, which is not something I was wont to do. (To this day it requires copious amounts of alcohol and/or viable threats to get me on a dance floor.)

I vaguely remember a dance when I was in sixth grade that involved sixth grade boys standing on one side of the room and all the sixth grade girls standing on the other side. All were waiting for either 1) the dance to end or 2) a sacrificial lamb to be the first to the slaughter.

I, of course, was that lamb. Our teacher, Miss Trimble, went around trying to get people to dance. She then suddenly grabbed me and ordered me to dance. Of course, for a few minutes, we were the only ones dancing which remains a horribly surreal moment in my life, especially when one group of students applauded my sacrifice. (Something like that.) Eventually everyone danced, but I don’t remember if I danced after that.

The incident involving cocaine happened after that (I think). All I remember about that dance is that there was a mix of ages and there was a dance contest that somehow I got roped into.

Although I’m sure my goal was to get thrown out of the contest as soon as possible, what complicated that plan was my partner and I kept passing through to the next phase of the competition. At some point the song of choice was “Cocaine” (I don’t remember if it was the J. J. Cale original or the Eric Clapton cover). Thinking back, although Clapton has always claimed the song was anti-cocaine, I’m still amazed it was possible to play a song with that title at a school function.

I the end my partner and I didn’t win. I think it was cocaine that ruined it for us. There’s a lesson in there somewhere.

The Problems With Pen Cases

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When it comes to the stuff for my stuff I’m pretty choosey and quickly recognize the flaws in everything. When I get something I like I tend to keep it a long time, but all good things eventually pass.

Leather:
Several hundred years ago (plus or minus a few) I bought a brown leather pen case from Levenger. It was designed to hold four pens and had a pocket in the middle that was supposed to hold refills and random bits (a technical term). It had slots for four pens.

That led to the first problem. Because the slots weren’t staggered, pens pushed against each other making the case wide and hard to close.

The Levenger pen case opened to reveal the guts.

The Levenger pen case opened to reveal the guts. The leather center is close to the original color.

Also, the case was badly stitched in one random spot at the bottom and putting a pen in the slot put pressure on the bad stitching. I also never liked that it couldn’t open fully. I ended up putting pens in the slots on one side and between the slots on the other. It also had room for an EDC flashlight.

Over time the leather got a great patina but eventually wore out and I had to replace it.

The dried leather, the great patina and worn out spine.

The dried leather, the great patina and the worn out spine.

Tactical:
Because it was difficult to find a leather pen case that met my standards (lots of slots, less than the cost of a new car) I opted for a Maxpedition Mini Pocket Organizer. The Mini had the requisite slots and was the right size for large pens and a flashlight. The problem was it had lots of dangly bits, including a loop handle I never actually needed. It had a large velcro rectangle and a mesh pocket on the front. It had molle webbing on the back. Overall, it had a tactical look more at home in Afghanistan than Japan.

My Maxpedition Mini load out. Ready for service in one of the 'Stans.

My Maxpedition Mini load out. Ready for service in one of the ‘Stans or for a trip to Tokyo.

It also had to be loaded carefully or it would bloat out and be too thick to carry comfortably. Like all Maxpedition organizers it had a key hook attached to a strap that did nothing but take up space and make it more difficult to load.
Eventually I discovered Kickstarter and my next pen case.

Nylon:
I ordered what was then the complete line up of goods from Nock Co. The cases were designed by an actual Pen Addict for other pen addicts. Once I got them, I settled on the five slot Sassafras for my everyday carry.

The Nock Co Sassafras with the cover flaps folded back.

The Nock Co Sassafras with the cover flaps folded back. There are four Kickstarter projects in this picture.

The Sassafras folds but doesn’t zip closed. it has a pair of flaps that serve as pen protectors and which help keep the pens in the case as it gets jostled around. I’ve had it flop open but have never lost a pen. It’s well staggered and doesn’t get too thick when it’s carrying a lot of pens. That said, I’d love to have a zippered version of it. (I’ll do a proper review of all my Nock Co stuff another day.)

The Final Choice:
As much as I like the Nock Co cases, I still prefer the look and feel of the old leather case. The Maxpedition was khaki and after a few months it started getting grungy which is a lot different than the patina on leather. The Nock Co is dark blue and doesn’t show grunge as easily but it will eventually begin to fray and fall apart without having a “this looks awesome” phase as it does.

My goal now is to convince the Nock Co people to make a leather version of one of their cases or find someone who can make a leather version I can afford without selling pens.

I’ll also keep looking for a good leather case.