Category Archives: Personal

Slogging Into Oblivion and the Unreadable Mess

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Despite my best efforts, I managed to eke out 50,399 words to “win” National Novel Writing Month. I’m not sure it was a good idea.

Part of the problem, as I’ve mentioned before, is that NaNoWriMo requires a level of seat-of-the-pants writing that, after a point, becomes useless. Now, part of this was my fault, as I chose to continue writing a work in progress. which meant I was doing pure free-writing on something that had been planned.

You can see a clear demarcation in the book between “gave thought to this” and “Run, Forrest, Run!”

I suspect that if I had just sat down and started writing from scratch, the process would have been easier, albeit a lot less coherent. (Not that it’s very coherent now.)

I ended up with repeated passages, lots of under-description, lots of over-description and the entire last third of the whatever-you-call-that mess is random quotes, random scenes and bits of dialogue. I included back story that was unlikely to make it into the final draft. I also included notes about scenes I needed and things I needed to remember. “Protagonist (not his real name) would try to figure out X’s location the week before her death.” This seems like basic stuff, but it took me 30 days and 50,000 words words to realize it.

November is also, even for us in Japan, is not a good month to attempt something like this. I’ve got school functions for the girls, karate tests, final school projects to mark and have to make two final exams. In the USA you’ve got Thanksgiving and Black Friday. It’s almost as if the creators of NaNoWriMo wanted you to prove you are a writer by forcing you to write in the worst conditions possible. (Next year’s NaNoWriMo: NaNoWriMo on icy spikes). It’s all got the feeling of a double-dog dare followed by “You wanna be cool, dontcha? Well, dontcha?”

I did find that I had better luck writing sections by hand then entering them into the main file later in the day. (Of course, my handwriting was an issue but only a small one.)

If I do it again next year I’ll do one of two things. 1) I’ll start 100% from scratch and see what happens. Twice now I’ve tried to complete works in progress and had mixed results. (Last year I stopped after three days and 3500 or so words). 2) I’ll do the 30 days in October and post the results in November.

Oh, I also won’t have a daily blog to worry about (maybe just a twice or three times a week blog).

 

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.

 

This Competion is Not a Sport

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Today we watched freezing pixies compete in a competition whilst we tried to stay warm and pretend we were interested.

Today was the annual competition for our youngest’s Rhythmic Gymnastics club. We chose this club because we knew she needed an outlet for her energy and because she liked to dance and is naturally flexible. We also chose it because it didn’t require the personal loans and endless debt involved in putting her in ballet lessons.

Rhythmic Gymnastics is one of those competitions that suffers because its appearance overwhelms its substance. What the competitors due requires balance, flexibility and stamina. If they are using props it requires hand eye coordination and timing. The problem is it all looks so silly, especially when props are involved. It’s also had to take seriously a sport where the competitors lose points if their hair bun comes lose. (Well, technically that’s true in Sumo, too, but, well.)

This same thing applies to Synchronized Swimming which, physically, is one of the most challenging competitions in the Olympics. It just looks silly. (At least in Rhythmic Gymnastics the competitors don’t wear Halloween mask nose plugs.)

The other issue, in the case of your youngest’s club, is that for reasons I don’t fully understand, Japan believes all gymnasiums (gymnasia?) should be unheated in winter. This means the competitors have to practice and perform on a cold floor in a cold gym (sit on a cold floor in your underwear and you’ll understand the pain they suffer) while the audience also freeze. To make matters worse, the benches in the gymnasium were designed for small people and had low backs, as if they were spare bus stop benches the builders happened to have lying around.

Our youngest got 16.30 points out of 20, which put her in the top half of the competitors but way out of the top 10. Although she has a lot of fun doing the performances, she’s still a bit sloppy. She doesn’t stop her spins crisply and her jumps still seem more lazy than strong.

Most importantly, though, her hair stayed in its bun.

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.

That Thing You Know Is Not What You Need Now

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Today in karate class I spent most of the time relearning the routine I didn’t learn last week. I didn’t learn it because what I did this week is not what I learned last week.

Confused? So was I.

On December 21 I have the test for my sixth level black belt. This involves four katas (two basic and two that cause pain); several seated defenses against punches, kicks and knife attacks; defense against knives when the person’s up close to you and holding your lapel; defense against knives when two people are up close and holding your lapels; defense against punches when being held by two people; counter defense when the guy you’re attacking with a knife messes up his defense and you get the upper hand; knife versus knife fighting and, I think, but I’m not sure, defense against swords.

All this wouldn’t be so bad except, right when I think I’ve got it down, the plan changes. For example, last week I practiced eight seated defenses that start with me sitting in a chair when I’m attacked by a standing opponent. I thought I did pretty well and practiced those moves all week. Then, this week, I suddenly had to do different moves.

I don’t know if this is a deliberate technique of the style but it seems to have happened each time I approached a belt test, learn this, practice it, then do something else. Granted, technically I should be able to do any move or routine when called upon to do it, but it’s the equivalent of being told you’re having a test on subtraction and then suddenly being thrown into an algebra pit. (Which really does exist, I’m pretty sure.)

Next week, it will probably all change again. I’m feeling much more confident this time around than I did a couple years ago when I failed the test. I still make small mistakes that, added together, hurt my chances, but I have most of the basics down.

Now I just need to work on my leg strength by next month so the painful katas are a little less painful.

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.

Perfect Pitch and Sickly Sweet Songs that Sound the Same

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Today, in high school English club, my job was to watch the club members listen to music. I also had to survive flashes of horror and flashbacks.

The reason I endured flashbacks is that, for reasons I’m not sure I want to know, the song chosen was “I Need to Be In Love” by the Carpenters. Now, although this was bad enough, what really shocked me was the reaction some of the students had when the very first note of each song was played. One student kept saying “Yes, I like that.” when the first note of “Top of the World” (I dare you to click the link and listen), “Sing” and “We’ve Only Just Begun” were played. It was like a nightmarish version of Name That Tune with teenagers. “Tom, I can freak the teacher out with just one note.”

Keep in mind, I wasn’t a big fan of the Carpenters, especially in high school, but at least I’d heard them almost every day from age three to age 15 (and then every hour for a year after Karen Carpenter’s death) so the notion that a Japanese high school boy born in 1999 could be a big enough fan to recognize each tune with only one note shocks me .

That said, a lot of bands find an odd second life here in Japan. One hit wonder Mr. Big has enjoyed a long career in Japan, including reuniting for a tour in 2009. Cindy Lauper remains popular and often appears on TV acting like, well, like Cindy Lauper. Jon Bon Jovi is also popular, especially thanks to a female comedian who used to sing a bad, yet oddly compelling chorus of “You Give Love a Bad Name” (You don’t need a link; it’s already in your head. Shot through the heart, indeed.)

Avril Lavigne also remains disturbingly popular.

As for me, I’m still stuck in the 70’s trying to songs out of my head.

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.