Category Archives: Personal

Strengths Weaknesses and Other Fish in the Sea

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In keeping with the weekly theme of long walks, I thought I’d talk about job interviews.

I’m pretty sure I had a job interview for my first job (delivering booze to liquor stores) but it wasn’t that memorable. The first job I remember applying for at university involved programming. I do not remember why I thought I was qualified to apply, but I vaguely remember someone I knew had suggested I apply because I was a decent writer. I also vaguely remember that it may have had something to do with proofreading text and writing the manual. All I remember for certain is putting on a suit and having to walk a long way across campus and being “that sweaty guy” at the interview.

I didn’t get the job–oddly, someone I graduated high school with did–but it was an experience that taught me a lot–mostly, park closer to the interview site.

The next job interview I remember was my Peace Corps interview. I suited up, parked closer (although this was probably in autumn so it was cooler) and waited patiently. The interviewer turned out to be one of the best friends of one of my best friends. We mostly chatted about our mutual friend and I was moved on to the battery of tests and retests that followed (more on that some day; until then a two word hint: weird ears).

There were small interviews for part time work after that but my next big interview was to join the JET Programme and go to Japan. (This was thanks to the suggestion of writer Bryn Greenwood, whose novels Last Will and Lie Lay Lain I recommend you all check out as she is an excellent writer and neither this blog nor my children would exist if she hadn’t recommended Niigata.) The JET interview was memorable for being my first group interview (A Japanese official; a professor and a former JET) and for me suddenly blanking and being unable to think of a subject verb disagreement. (I is stupid that way sometimes.) I also had to pretend to be a cowboy. (No kisses were involved, though.)

After all those interviews I’ve gotten pretty good at figuring out if I did well in the interview or if I did poorly. However, until I applied to my current company, I’d never had an interview that left me going “What the hell just happened?”

Things didn’t go well before the interview. It was my first internet application and, oddly enough, no one would actually tell me how to spell the name of the recruiter doing the interview. I’d sent letters to him with his name misspelled and all he would do was try to pronounce it as if that would help me magically understand how to spell it. (For the record: I only learned after I had the job and only because it was on a form.)

The interview was on a Sunday which meant we had to enter the building through the basement. We then went through the usual questions about strengths and weaknesses and ideal jobs and “Are you now or have you ever been a member of a union?” (None, plenty, all pay for no work; probably not.)

It went on long enough that it turned into a chat, which set off my warning system as I don’t always do well in chats. However, he then said something to the effect of “I don’t know how serious things are with this woman where you are now but there are a lot of women in Tokyo.”

I think I kept my mouth closed but I’m not sure. I then wondered if dumping She Who Must Be Obeyed was a prerequisite for the job.

In the end it didn’t matter. I got the job and they’ve treated me pretty well for the most part and I didn’t have to dump She Who Must Be Obeyed.

This Truck Rolls Without Brakes

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Since yesterday I talked about my long walk to visit the future in-laws, I thought today I’d talk about She Who Must Be Obeyed’s long walk. In her case, though, a flight was involved.

I had just finished my three years in Nou and was in a transition phase that involved going back to the USA for a new visa to be processed. As soon as I got the USA–there were a couple complicating factors involved–She Who Must Be Obeyed called me from Japan and pretty much invited herself to Salina for a visit.

I told my family about this and asked if it would be okay if she visited and the conversation went something like:

Me–Mom, She Who Will Eventually Be Obeyed is coming to the USA. Is it okay if she–
Mom–(on phone) Assemble the team. We have planning to do.

At that point, a truck was rolling and I pretty much lost control of SWWEBO’s visit. Old friends were assembled at the dinner table and they started planning a reception. As I half listened to what was going on behind me, I heard the reception growing and growing and growing. When it reached the point of renting a hall and inviting the Governor, I finally had to grab control of the steering wheel and point out the level of shock involved in arriving in a strange town and discovering a party in rented hall being thrown on your behalf by people you’d never met. Also, Bill Graves‘ hair was way too perfect for him to be much fun at a party.

You’ve never seen such an unhappy group of ladies in your life. (I suspect at least two of them never forgave me.)

Eventually, the plan was modified to a reception at my grandmother’s house with everyone arriving at staggered times to allow SWWEBO to acclimate to everyone. My only job was to casually announce the reception and make sure SWWEBO didn’t jump out of the car and run back to the plane.

When I told her, there was a brief moment where she eyed the door handle but she never jumped out. I then got to enjoy her reaction at seeing a Hardee’s chicken sandwich for the first time. She just stared at it for several seconds with an “is that all for me?” look. I said “Welcome to America” and “You can take half of it with you if you want.”

The staggered arrival reception went well and I was pretty much ordered to keep her around. More specifically, I was told I’d be an even bigger fool–interesting wording that–if I “let that one get away.”

So far, so good.

Walking the Long Walk and Talking

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One of the hardest walks to make in this life is the walk into the house of your possible future in-laws to receive their approval, blessing and/or open contempt/hostility. This is an especially difficult walk if 1) it’s going to occur in another language and 2) you’ve been keeping your relationship secret.

In my case, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I had been dating for several months before she showed my picture to her parents. The reaction, according to her, was a heavy sigh from her father. His major concern was if I’d stay in Japan or not, especially if the relationship became more serious. I was delighted by this as my ex-girlfriends typically had  much larger lists of major concerns than that.

Eventually, I had to make the walk and introduce myself. I entered the house and took off my shoes and was pleased no one passed out or chased me out. I was then directed down the hallway. I took two steps and stopped next to an open pit that covered the entire width of the hallway and was too wide to step across. I remember thinking, “Wow, letting me in only to drop me in a pit is cold; way cold.” They kept gesturing “go on, go on” but I didn’t go on until they explained it was the winter home of their koi and what looked like an open pit actually had a thick glass cover. I still didn’t go on until She Who Must Be Obeyed stepped on it and survived.

We then had the awkward gathering in a Western style backroom where we sat on opposite sofas while Mother and Father of She Who Must Be Obeyed put on looks of inscrutable contempt and skepticism that the Japanese have perfected. They offered the usual pleasantries and I gave them the usual personal information. Then they offered me chocolate cake. After nearly being killed in a pit, I was pretty sure I was about to be poisoned, but I decided to risk a bite. I then discovered that the real purpose of the cake was to test if I ate like a human or like an animal.

The question was answered when I dropped a bite of cake on their carpet.

I apparently showed the proper level of remorse and I was 1) allowed to live and 2) allowed to keep dating their daughter. Eventually I’d be taken to dinner with the entire family for a test of my ability to eat large amounts of food. Oddly, and surprisingly for those who know me, I almost failed. But that’s another post.

The Madness of Minding Another’s Trash

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Right around this time 15 years ago I left Nou-machi for a return to the US. My last day was spent assisting a team of city office folk in the stripping down and cleansing of my apartment (which, technically, was THEIR apartment).

It was bad enough having people around at a stressful time, but I also ran headlong into the way Japanese recycling law meets personal privacy. Except for a final polish on the kitchen and some final packing of boxes, my apartment was in decent shape. I’d even bagged the garbage and tied the bags shut. As soon as the team arrived, they broke open the bags and started sorting the paper garbage in to various types of recyclables. As I’ve mentioned before, to me, what makes something burnable garbage is the ability to burn. If it burns it is not necessary to consult a checklist and or book of rules especially when it leads to a privacy busting conversation.

I then had to explain 1) why I had a large collection of Psychometrer Eiji comic books and 2) why I was throwing them out and 3) was okay if one of the staff took them. (It was an awesome comic and good language study material; they were too heavy to move; yes, by all means now stop picking through my trash!)

My stress level was pretty high when I was driven to the post office to ship some stuff.

My employment status was vaguely uncertain and the people I was dealing with in what is still the company I work for (sort of) weren’t being helpful and I wasn’t sure if I had a job or when I’d start. I also didn’t have a place for my stuff.  Because of this, I didn’t know how long I’d be in the USA and I sent a bunch of stuff home the expensive way. This was annoying enough, but when I got back to the apartment, the worker who’d driven me to the post office immediately announced to everyone present how much I’d spent.

An observer at that moment would have seen my head fly up off my body, spin around a few times and land back on my head at a slightly crooked angle. I was so angry I could barely speak English. Japanese was right out.

The infuriating thing was that none of them thought anything special about it at all until my head flew off. I’d made the big deal out of it; for them it was natural to know everything about everyone. It was like being in an especially small town.

After all these years, I still haven’t got used to having my trash exposed to the world. (Except via blogging, of course.)

Help Without Awareness is Not Helpful

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I’ve mentioned before about how complicated the Japanese train ticket system can be. However, I did once learn that the train staff being too subtle can also be some danger. Well, especially if you’re dealing with people who believe that you didn’t believe everything you said and acted accordingly but didn’t bother telling you and thus left you believing that they believed you.

Confused? Well, let me try to explain. At the end of our first year in Japan, the group in my area decided to head down to Kobe for the annual Renewers’ Conference. This is a time of great seriousness where those who’ve decided to commit to another year in the J.E.T. Programme gather to enjoy a series of lectures and presentations by those who’ve been there and done that and then enjoy a pleasant time in the evenings with new and interesting people. (Translation: it’s one giant festival of bacchanalia interrupted by boring lectures and one of the world’s most boring dinner parties.)

Because the party, er, conference starts on a Thursday, it is a renewers’ tradition that people heading to the conference take Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday off and do some traveling on the five day weekend. In our case, we decided to pass Kobe and go to Hiroshima and then work our way back toward Kobe. Because we had a lot of time and masochistic streaks the size of, um, well, a bullwhip, we decided to take an express train to Kyoto and then save money by taking slower local trains from Kyoto to Hiroshima. I bought my tickets in Nou-machi, some bought their tickets in Itoigawa whilst at least one person bought his tickets in Toyama.

When we were in Kyoto trying to figure out which platform our train departed from, I showed my ticket to one of the JR employees. He said something in lightning fast Japanese and pointed toward the bullet train platforms. I decided I’d misunderstood and we boarded our local train and took our slow ride to Hiroshima.

Towards the end of the long ride I, bothered by the JR employee’s reaction, took a good look at my tickets. I realized I did, in fact, have a bullet train ticket from Kyoto to Hiroshima. The others mocked my mistake for a minute before realizing they also had bullet train tickets. It turned out that there was a special package deal. If we took the express to Kyoto, there was a discount on the bullet train.

What surprised us was 1) that even though we’d purchased our tickets in different stations in different cities and had all carefully asked for local trains, we’d all received the package deal and 2) that no one had bothered to tell us that we didn’t have the tickets we thought we had.

We then spent the rest of the ride and 25 minutes in Hiroshima trying to get a refund for the difference between what we’d bought and what we thought we’d bought.

In the end, the difference was only about $18 each, making us wish we’d actually taken the bullet train and/or had bothered to look at our tickets.

 

 

A Great Feeling of Dread and Despair

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For various complicated reasons that prove that 1) God has a sense of humor and 2) my karma sucks, I will be solely responsible for the care and feeding of teenaged girl for a good portion of the summer.

This is because Mother of She Who Must Be Obeyed is going into surgery and She Who Must be Obeyed is taking our youngest and heading off to Niigata to look after her. However, because Japan is run by sadists who do not understand the meaning of the phrase “summer vacation” our oldest has several club practices and will be staying home with me.

This poses a few interesting dilemmas.

First, it makes it difficult for me to recharge my batteries as I will now have people around (well, at teenager anyway). Do I simply encourage her to surf the net and text her friends via her Nintendo 3DS constantly or do I make an effort to encourage her to study constantly?

Second, this means I am required to “set an example” and “be responsible” which means my usual regression into a kind of prehistoric beast will not be possible. (Well, it’s possible, just not recommended.) Do I simply encourage her to live life one step above the garbage houses in Hoarders with the understanding that we have to clean everything before She Who Must Be Obeyed gets home or do I give her more daily chores?

Third, do I bribe her to skip club and just go to Niigata where she will be spoiled blind by the family members there? (With the understanding that she will have to be reprogrammed to her regular life of scarcity once she gets back.)

Fourth, do I pull the Bill Cosby “dad’s are the smartest people in the house because only a genius could act that dumb” card and make it appear that I plan to do things in the worse possible way imaginable so that She Who Must Be Obeyed insists our oldest go to Niigata with her? Examples: Don’t worry, dear. We’ll eat well. McDonalds is up by the station and we can always order pizza. There’s lots of good, just expired food thrown out on burnable trash day, too. If you cook it thoroughly it’s just fine. Got me through graduate school. Or: I’m going to teach our oldest how to use and sharpen knives. Or: I’m going to get my driver’s license and start driving us around everywhere.

Fifth, should I speak to her or pretend she’s not there?

Sixth, do I just have fun and try to make some positive memories? Sure. But she has club almost everyday. We’ll have to pencil in the memories. Sigh.

Short Tempers and First Impressioned Meetings

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短気は損気 Tanki wa sonki A short temper is a disadvantage. Japanese Proverb

Since yesterday I talked about the night before I started dating She Who Must Be Obeyed, today I thought I’d talk about the first time we met. It was less than impressive, or at least I was. She was going to Hong Kong. I was having a temper tantrum in a train station.

To understand why, you first have to understand that because I am prone to periodic fits of brain lock, I’m also prone to periodic bursts of anger during those fits of brain lock. You also have to understand that, despite all its apparent modernity, Japan retains certain odd early 20th century quirks. This is especially true with its trains and its train ticketing system. To go from point A to point B often requires three or more individual tickets.

For example, to get to my in-laws’ house via Japan Rail requires a base ticket from Kawagoe to Nou-Machi; a super express (bullet train) ticket from Omiya to Echigo-Yuzawa; and an express ticket from Echigo-Yuzawa to Naoetsu. Each has a different value and are all added together to determine the cost of the trip. At various stages during the trip the individual tickets are swallowed up by various ticket gates but you often have to put all three tickets in the gate at the same time and then pick up the two that are rejected. The system is so confusing, even to Japanese, it requires diagrams on the tickets gates and several JR staff members hollering about which tickets to insert in the gates.

However, back in February 1997 I didn’t fully realize all this when I bought a ticket from Nou-Machi to Osaka en route to visit my sister and husband in Guam. I was happy because I’d paid much less for the train ticket than I was expecting, even though I hadn’t been able to buy the leg from Osaka Station to Kansai Airport. When I got to Itoigawa Station to wait for my red eye train to Osaka, I inquired about purchasing that last leg of the trip. The ticket man muttered something and then started playing around on a computer. In about 30 seconds my cheap ticket had more than doubled in price and because my Japanese wasn’t yet good enough to understand what was going on, I responded by going in full brain lock anger.

As it turned out, She Who Must Be Obeyed was there with some of my adult students, who also happened to be her friends. They were on their way to Hong Kong, which required they catch a red eye heading in the opposite direction. My students introduced me to She Who Must Be Obeyed and although I thought she was cute, it wasn’t love at first sight, but at that point I was only interested in tickets and money.

My student explained all the ticket madness and I’m sure I said something positive about Japan (ahem) and handed over some cash and everything was finally resolved. it wasn’t the best first meeting, but it worked out in the end. Eventually. About a year later.

 

Singing the Empty Orchestra Blues

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Despite all my years in Japan, I still do not understand the Japanese love of karaoke. Not only is it a popular “why don’t we get drunk and sing?” activity but it’s popular enough that there are annual shows where celebrities take turns singing songs for cash. (If they can sing the song without making a mistake, their team wins money.)

My first taste of karaoke was with the teachers at my smallest school. They took turns belting out Japanese hits with surprising skill (and a little help from autotune) whilst I scanned the catalog for a song in English that both of us knew and which didn’t give me a headache. It quickly became clear, though, that the songs I knew they didn’t know and the songs they knew I didn’t like. They kept suggesting songs and I kept rejecting their ideas as I tried to explain some of my axioms of karaoke:

1–Just because I like a song doesn’t mean I know all the words.
2–Just because I know all the words doesn’t mean I want to sing the song.
3–I’m not a big fan of post “I Want To Hold Your Hand” Beatles so stop suggesting it.
4–“Let it Be,” “Yesterday” and “Imagine” are overrated.

In the end I settled on the Shocking Blue version of “Venus” which left all of us underwhelmed but guaranteed I wouldn’t have to sing again and, by extrapolation, meant I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. The next time I sang was with my then boss and involved “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” but I’ll have to save discussion of that one until the New Year season.

Sometime after that I sang “Saturday Night” by the Bay City Rollers with She Who Must Be Obeyed back when she was known as She Whose Friend Was Really Cute aka She Who Helped Sabotage My Chances With the Really Cute Friend.

The big karaoke moment though came in 1998 when for reasons I still don’t fully understand but which involved my having visited London on three occasions, I was invited to join She Who Would Eventually Be Obeyed and her friends at a party celebrating the one year (or so) reunion of their trip to London. I was not only the only foreigner and the only one present who hadn’t been on their trip, I was the only male. As such, I was expected to sing because, well, because. Quite frankly, if I’d left them with the impression that “foreign men are boring” that would have been fine with me.

Instead, I was asked if I knew the song “California Dreamin'” I said “of course” and was suddenly scheduled to sing the song. I pointed out that although I knew the song, I only really new the chorus. The person who scheduled me was like “Yeah, how about that.”

To make matters worse, it wasn’t a private karaoke room, it was a stage in the bar. This meant that when a Japanese was singing no one noticed, but when a large foreigner got up there, the entire place would shut down to watch (had been there; had done that; more on that another day).

To make worse matters worse, about the time my song was scheduled to scroll up, one of my party colleagues belted out a version of a Japanese song in a near perfect Mariah Carey multi-octave impersonation.

I was, of course, no fool, and stated how I didn’t follow Mariah Carey. This turned my song into a duet that went something like:

All the leaves are brown (the leaves are brown) and the sky is gray (and the sky is gray).
Something something something (something something) on a winter’s day.
Something something something (something something) something something L.A.;
California dreamin’ on such a winter’s day.

I got through it and on the ride home I accidentally asked out She Who Would Eventually Be Obeyed and she quickly accepted. The next day we went out and never stopped dating.

So not everything about karaoke is bad; just that singing part.

Tales of Skinned Knees and Broken Hearts

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I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.” ― Gwendolen, The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde

Fewer things horrify me more than looking back through my diary. This is partly because it’s pretty horrifying to look back over your life and think “Lacks action” and “needs a plot with more direction.”

Looking back over mine, even with two years in Albania and several years in Japan, I’m always shocked at all the wasted time and all the whining over skinned knees and broken hearts. Even worse is the horrifying sameness. There’s a long period after I got settled into Japan where all the daily posts started with either “Ordinary day” or “Okay day.” Those went on so long that I pretty much stopped recording anything. Mind, you this means that my time in Japan was ordinary but safe and I was protected from living in “interesting times”.

This is also because, as I’ve mentioned before, I find diaries to be largely a waste of time. It’s lots of time and energy spent sending daily letters to yourself. (Unlike blogs which are time and energy spent on sending letters to yourself and a few other people and the kind bots that keep your inbox filled with semi-coherent spam so you know that at least something cares.)

On the other hand, when interesting things do happen in my life, I tend not to write about them for a long time. This means my diaries have long blank periods often spanning years. Although I have an entry on proposing to She Who Must Be Obeyed, I don’t have an entry about any of our three wedding ceremonies. I also don’t have entries on the births of either daughter. I didn’t write one about my father’s death until two months after he was buried and even then it was part of a “Wow, a lot of stuff has happened” entry.

For the most part, anything I have resembling a diary falls under the category of what I call a “confusion journal”. Periodically, usually several months apart, when events and emotions swirl, I’ll sit down and vent with pen and ink and that can usually calm me down and give me some perspective.

One time I realized how boring my complaints were and actually fell asleep whilst writing about them. That’s right, I’m so boring some times I can cure my own insomnia.

 

 

Hanging Out With Fat People Doesn’t Make You Thin

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One of my guilty pleasures is the TV show Hoarders. One of the problems of living in Japan is I only recently discovered it. I remember hearing about it when I was in the USA several years ago, but never had a chance to watch it until recently. It hasn’t had the effect I thought it would.

To explain this, you also have to know that one of my other guilty pleasures is the Rodney Dangerfield movie “Back to School.” This is mostly for it’s great lines “Bring us a pitcher of beer every seven minutes until somebody passes out; and then bring one every ten minutes.” and a terrific cameo by Kurt Vonnegut. The line that’s applicable this time, though, is “if you want to look thin, you hang out with fat people”.

I expected hoarders to be like that; no matter how bad the “variety room” is, it’s not as bad some of the places on Hoarders. In comparison my home is rather clean. What I saw, though, was the places that were a bit too close to home. We have a small apartment and a lot of stuff and one room that serves as our storage room. The rest of the apartment is clean (except two cluttered bookshelves) but the variety room triples as an office for two, overflow storage and, no joke, temporary trash storage. The latter is a result of Japan’s goofy recycling laws and a difference in philosophy between myself and She Who Must Be Obeyed.

SWMBO is the conscientious Japanese lady following the rules and trying to neither cause trouble nor give the appearance of being a rule breaker. I’m the guy who likes to point out that while cardboard is, technically, recyclable garbage, it is also burnable garbage. I’m also the guy willing to argue with the lady serving as the trash police (until I remember that, this year, SWMBO IS the trash police).

That said, I believe the recyclables should be stored outside on the balcony until it’s time to put them in the trash area. (Japan has areas for trash, not dumpsters. Long story.) That, however, is not done with all recyclable trash as the city doesn’t want it water damaged and moldy.

The result is piles of cardboard, card stock, paper and old bags taking up space on the floor and on a shelf in the variety room. It doesn’t take up that much space, but the psychological effect is surprising. It gets in the way of our real storage and the sense of disorder makes it very easy to add just one more bit of trash, or to start just one more pile next to it. That’s especially true since one of the office mates is a teenager.

The most disturbing part is how easy it is to get used to it. After a while you don’t even really see it. It’s just part of the furniture. That’s the effect watching Hoarders has had on me. I actually understand the Hoarders more than I should.