Category Archives: Random

There’s No Such Thing as a Free Beer

One of the things I think a lot of people don’t get about government goodies is that although something doesn’t have a price, it always has a cost. You only think you’re getting it for free. This is also true of free beer.

One of the advantages of being a foreigner in Japan is that, even in this area, people will invite you to their blue tarps during Hanami and offer you a beer. If you’re lucky the only cost is 20 questions and a chance to practice your Japanese while they practice their English. Then, if you’re smart, you run to a beer machine or a convenience store and replace the beer you just drank after a short “oh, you didn’t have to do that” ritual.

If you’re not lucky, or an introvert not good at making long term conversation in another language and/or not good at making graceful exits, you may pay a higher cost when you end up trapped. On two occasions, I’ve been trapped. Both actually happened in the same day.

First, when I was still in Nou-machi, the town festival (more on that in another post) fell on a Saturday which meant a lot of people were suddenly able to attend. As soon as I arrived, I ran into my former boss who had secured a prime location. He immediately ordered me to sit down and drink. I stayed a while and every time I was about to try to leave I was handed another beer. Eventually, other friends arrived from other towns and I was able to exit.

(For the record: I probably out-stayed my welcome by quite a long time but I’ve never been good at reading “your time is up, get the hell out” signals in any language.)

After that I pointed my friends in the right direction for beer and refreshments and then got ordered to sit by a group of people I knew. They also started handing me beer. I ended up stuck there for a while until I managed to escape.

Keep in mind, part of the reason I liked attending the festival was it gave me a chance to play with camera gear and take lots of pictures. Being trapped, even with free beer means I’m stuck in one location and can’t just break out a tripod and camera when I’m supposed to be being sociable. It also means I can’t enjoy the food you have to pay for. Most of the free beer entrapments provide free snacks, but I’d rather head to the food stands.

The stuff there has a price but little cost.

I rather be here. The food stands at Takada Park in Joetsu. It's famous for its night Hanami.

I rather be here. The food stands at Takada Park in Joetsu. It’s famous for its night Hanami.

Viewing Flowers Through Beer-Colored Glasses

A lot of people are about to celebrate spring by getting really drunk.

The arrival of spring in Japan means the cherry blossom trees are about to bloom and the Japanese will get drunk and stupid for at least one night during Hanami, or the flower viewing festival.

I think this festival is so important because it marks the first day the Japanese can have a party outside without freezing. That said, it is still kind of an odd festival.

The truth is the plum blossoms have been blooming for a while and they are much more impressive than the cherry blossoms, most of which are old and are more of a pale pink that a vibrant pink. However, most years the weather is too cold for people to properly enjoy partying outside, especially when it’s only plum blossoms.

This is what it looks like from under the tree.

Cherry blossoms from a couple years ago. Cool, but kind of pale.

Also, a lot of events happen at once at the end of March: graduations, teacher transfers, company employee transfers and the end of the fiscal year. Everyone’s tired, has cabin fever and is ready to party.

This also leads to a form of competition. Young employees are sent to the most popular party spots (Ueno Park, Shinjuku park and Naka-Meguro) and told to claim a plot of land for their company. The weapon of choice for this claim is a blue tarp. The young employees then work shifts, including spending the night in the park, to keep the prime spot of land claimed.

Some people camp out for a week at time and neither rain nor snow nor sleet nor rival companies will keep them from their appointed plot. (Something like that.)

At the same time the Japanese news is filled with official forecasts of when the leaves will be in full bloom. The forecasts include color charts depicting the current level of bloom and the full bloom day in various cities. Forecasters can get in trouble if they are wrong.

Reporters are sent out the parks to interview earlier partiers and commiserate with the campers as the young reporters probably were the campers the year before.

Once the party starts, it’s basically a 24 hour drunken picnic. Thousands of people assemble on the tarps and thousands more walk around with drinks in hand. Places like Naka-Meguro (a river walk) are so crowded all you can do is walk (don’t stop, it’s too dangerous to stop) and photographers will nearly come to blows trying to get the best angles.

At that point the tabloid magazines send out their reporters and photographers to capture the revelry and as much debauchery as possible. Back after I moved to Tokyo, a group of us managed to find a spot in Ueno Park along with tens of thousands of other people. We were then invited to join another group.

At some point a tabloid photographer started stalking us, mostly to get pictures of drunken foreigners and, especially drunken foreign women. That tabloid shut down soon after that party, but there might accidentally be a picture of me out there.

Luckily, it will be pretty boring.

More cherry blossoms. Still kind of pale, though.

More cherry blossoms. Still kind of pale, though.

The Endless Tournament of the Not Funny

One thing I don’t get about Japan is it’s unceasing love for comedians. Perhaps it stems from a lifestyle that’s so work-oriented it’s driving people to suicide. In that environment, some humor must be a nice thing.

That part I get. What I don’t get is their love of unfunny comedians. For the most part Japanese humor is old vaudeville slapstick with two comedians, one the straightman and one the stooge. The stooge does something dumb and the straightman responds by slapping him on the head. In fact, it’s common for the host of a comedy show, if he’s a comedian to hit his comedian guests. They even do this to women which can be rather disturbing to someone from the west. (More on that in another post.)

There’s also a reliance on goofy gestures and pratfalls. Most comedy duos also have a signature gesture they use to announce the end of a joke as most of the audience isn’t laughing and need a cue to commence polite golf claps and polite, er, golf laughs.

Soon after I got to Japan, I saw a TV show where several comedians played a form of baseball. Nine members of a family were arranged in a tic-tac-toe grid. The members’ ages ranged from elementary school kids to retirees and included at least one teenager. Each comedian was given a set number of “pitches” (i.e. jokes) to make all nine members of the family laugh.

I wanted to practice my Japanese so I thought I’d watch and see if they could make me laugh.

Spoiler: they couldn’t.

Almost every comedian went up and started making stupid gestures or simply acting stupid. The elementary school kids laughed right away but everyone else kind of seemed sad for the comedians. Finally, Takashi Okumara of the Japanese comedy duo Ninety-nine got the chance to “pitch”. After a few failed gestures and stupid puns, he announced something called “Bruce Lee DJ”. He made a big show of balancing imaginary headphones and putting on a record. Then as he started to scratch the record he started making Bruce Lee kung fu chicken noises and kung fu gestures.

I’m not sure anyone else laughed, but I did. It was an actual joke requiring set up, timing and delivery. It also required a bit of knowledge about Bruce Lee.

It may not have been that funny, but by that point I was hoping for anything resembling a joke.

Trains in a Museum With a Bit of Tongue

I had a student who was so interested in trains that he’d memorized the gestures and phrases the station-masters used to send off trains. He also knew the announcements of every station on his route. When I gave out a map of the Tokyo railway system, he immediately knew which parts were out of date.

Oddly, for Japan, this is relatively normal behavior. At every station it’s normal to see several people taking pictures of the approaching trains and discussing how the trains look even if they are not that interesting:

A Yamanote Line train approaches. This is the kind of pictures train nerds take.

A Yamanote Line train approaches. This is the kind of pictures train nerds take. Mine is merely illustrative not nerdy.

It was therefore inevitable that a bunch of old trains would be assembled at a museum. What makes The Railway Museum very Japanese is the trains are all kept inside a temperature controlled building the size of an aircraft hangar.

Our youngest and I rushed off to this museum today and both of us were impressed. Because it was a school day, it wasn’t that crowded but there was a good collection of nerds present taking pictures of every detail of every train.

NERDS!

NERDS!

The museum is well laid out with all the trains and cars and exhibits in rough concentric circles. There’s a good mix of old and not quite as old trains and lots of displays about the new trains. Visitors could go inside most trains and experience the difference between third class, second class and first class (the latter being the one we could only look at not actually experience).

There were also several cars from the old Imperial trains which seemed fairly posh, at least from behind the floor to ceiling glass walls. Staircases led under some trains so nerds could photograph the undercarriage.

The rail yard part of the museum.

The rail yard part of the museum.

The rail yard from the other side. The Imperial trains are behind the glass to the right on the ground floor.

The rail yard from the other side. The Imperial trains are behind the glass to the right on the ground floor.

My biggest complaint about the rail yard section was that none of the drivers’ cabins were open to the public. It would have been cool to see what the world looks like from the point of view of the drivers.

On the other end of the museum is a learning center with a huge train diorama and a section where kids can play with various train related items involving physics and lights. Train driving simulators are available for those willing to stand in line. There is also a small train ride for those willing to stand in a longer line.

The final fun part is that visitors can buy boxed lunches (ekiben) from various stations around Japan and eat them on a train car. Our youngest had chicken with a side of ketchup rice. I had a Sendai specialty: breaded, deep-fried beef tongue sandwich.

Entry to the museum is 1,000 yen for adults, 500 yen for students ($8.38 and $4.19). The chicken and tongue are extra.

 

 

Free Whiskey and a lot of Whine

On two occasions when I lived in Niigata, I was given bottles of whiskey. In only one case did I actually say thank you. In both cases I tried to avoid drinking the whiskey.

The first time I was given a bottle of whiskey was at a Bonenkai. My then boss knew I liked whiskey and presented me a bottle at the beginning of the party. It was a decent brand and was actually James Bond approved. (It’s the second bottle down on this site.) I said thanks and tried to set the bottle to the side.

Unfortunately, it became clear that I’d have to drink the whiskey rather than beer. The attitude was You like whiskey. You have always liked whiskey. You have never liked beer. You will like the one and hate the other. Ye cannot serve whiskey and mammon. (Something like that.) This would have been fine except for the Japanese party tradition that you never pour your own drink. Instead, someone comes up to you, forces you to finish your drink and pours you another.

With beer this is not a problem as the glasses are small. With whiskey it’s like drinking a triple shot and then being poured another. I tried sipping my way through but was forced to drink down the glass at least four times. When I was able to fly and crawl across the ceiling, I finally convinced them that I needed beer.

The second time happened on a ski trip where I was having one of my brain lock meltdowns. I’d been crashed into by not one, but two soulless snowboarders (but I repeat myself) and had entered one of my “I hate you all and you all suck” brain lock meltdowns. To appease me, someone in the group asked me what I liked to drink and I said whiskey. Suddenly, a second bottle of the James Bond whiskey appeared.

This time, I was not in the mood and far beyond anything resembling gratitude. When we boarded our bus to return home, someone offered me the whiskey, but I set it aside and asked for beer. The look I got was one part “what the fuck” and one part “fuck you”. I eventually shared the whiskey with my adult class and drank it myself, but I don’t think I ever said a heartfelt thank you.

Remind me again: Why don’t I get invited to parties?

Smokin’ and Drinkin’ and Chillin’

I spent most of the evening today smoking at a place called Chillin’.

I ended up there because today was the first of two consecutive farewell parties for the same people. Tomorrow is the official English Department farewell party but today we had the unofficial “foreigners in the department” farewell party.

Our original plan was to meet in Tokyo and go to an Irish pub because that’s what you do when you’re in Tokyo, especially if you’ve lived in Japan a long time. One of my colleagues, though suggested we go to a shisha bar called Chillin’ and smoke a couple bowls before going to the pub.

I was skeptical. The only hookah I’ve ever smoked involved “beneficial herbs that are now legal in Colorado” (a technical term) and I didn’t imagine sitting around in a haze of smoke would be very interesting without that “beneficial herb”. I thought about arriving later, when we went to the pub but ended up deciding to give the shisha bar a try. I did, however, mention that I probably wouldn’t enjoy spending the the entire evening there.

That, of course, is exactly what we did.

First we bought beer and snacks at a nearby convenience store and were disturbed to the find the bar closed in the early afternoon. We then decided to walk around and drink our beers before they got warm. (Note: walking around drinking alcohol is legal in Japan.)

Eventually we returned and the place opened and there were already people sitting around smoking.  We ordered our tobacco: Blue Mist, Spicy Chai Latte and Aloha which, now that I think about it, sound kind of like strippers’ names. I was immediately surprised by how smooth it was and how unlike a cigar, pipe or cigarette it tasted.

We were so relaxed and had such a good time we ended up staying for five hours. Eventually we sent people out for provisions (chicken, chips and beer) and we ordered more tobacco: Chocolate Cocoa; Blueberry and Licorice (which sound like desserts, not strippers). The Licorice was the best, although the Chocolate Cocoa had its moments.

There was a good crowd of Japanese and foreigners and everyone sampled everyone else’s tobacco. (We all had our own plastic mouth piece that we stuck on the hose when we smoked. This led to us trying to explain to the Japanese university students next to us what licorice was. This proved difficult as I’ve never seen black licorice sold in Japan.

Although we had a good time, we couldn’t escape the feeling that we were in the shisha bar version of Starbucks coffee. I don’t know if I’ll go back. Then again, I didn’t actually want to go in the first place so anything is possible.

 

 

Musgoes and Super Simple Complications

I’m in the mood to talk about food because today we had some of my favorite foods for lunch and supper. Most of them, though, were made sometime last week.

With the possible exception of having popcorn for supper, my favorite foods to have for supper on weekends are usually leftovers. I don’t know why this is. I also don’t know why one of the few phrases my mother used that’s stuck with me is “musgoes”. There was also some mention of washing something after supper and putting something away and cleaning some place or another that I used to sleep in. I was also supposed to make something, but none of that is as important as food.

Because I like the phrase “musgoes” I’ve now exported it to Japan and have She Who Must Be Obeyed saying it, too. Today was actually the perfect day for musgoes. I’m cleaning the office after the neglect induced by the end of the school year and exam marking; our oldest was at club; She Who Must Be Obeyed was running our youngest around to something called “Mini Kawagoe” which is an occasional event where kids get to try out “job simulators” and pretend they are firefighters and police officers and the guy who runs the cash register at the convenience store and lets his friends by beer and cigarettes. (Something like that.)

She Who Must Be Obeyed came home after passing our youngest off on her friends and her friend’s mother and declared we were having musgoes for lunch. This was not, technically, the way things were supposed to be–musgoes for lunch are properly served on Sunday– but it was delicious, even though it involved several types of carbohydrates.

Then, for supper, none of us were really hungry. I opted for my other favorite phrase “Super Simple Supper” which, to me, involves the purchase of pre-made food. She Who Must Be Obeyed went shopping and came back with some chicken and some sashimi.

Unfortunately, it turned out there was also rice to be finished, so the Super Simple Supper turned into a bowl of fish on rice. it was delicious but it wasn’t super simple. It also involved too many of those things I was supposed to wash and or put way sometime or once.

Maybe our oldest remembers. I’ll have her wash that stuff.

Lots of Pens Without Much Passion

A cute Japanese lady almost convinced me to buy a pen, but I told her I couldn’t.

Actually I said I’d have to think about it and then asked if they’d still be around on Monday.

Today was the 16th Mitsukoshi Fountain Pen Festival at Mitsukoshi Department Store in Downtown Tokyo. (It’s two blocks from where the Maruzen World Fountain Pen Fair took place last week.)

Last year when I went I was underwhelmed at what I found. Today I was only slightly more whelmed.

Today was helped by the presence three of Japans’ small fountain pen makers: Nakaya, Ohashido and Eboya (more on them later). I also like that the Mitsukoshi Festival has a table with racks of pens visitors are welcome to try. Piles of notebooks are also provided although, being a writer and a proper addict, I brought my own.

Try it, you'll like it. (Then you'll want to buy it.)

Try it, you’ll like it. Then you’ll want to buy it. (I spent a lot of time here trying and rejecting rationalizations.)

Mr. Yoshida of Nakaya was there fixing nibs and I was actually able to get get close enough to the table to handle some of the pens. However, She Who Must Be Obeyed apparently put a curse on me before I left the house because each Nakaya I touched burned my skin and I heard the Devil’s voice telling me I was going to burn and that forever was a very long time.

I also got a chance to try out Eboya pens. They specialize in pens made from ebonite. I impressed and scared them when I showed my Edison Glenmont LE. I was impressed with the Eboya and they are now on the possibles list.  I was disappointed, though, that they use Peter Bock nibs rather than manufacturing their own.

Two ebonite pens from Eboya. The force is strong in these two.

Two ebonite pens from Eboya. The force is strong in these two, but I don’t like the gold band on the cap.

The problem with the show is a problem that seems to apply to all Japanese pen shows: they are run for the stores and not for the enthusiasts. The Mitsukoshi fair had a terrific selection of pens, but most of the counters were run by Mitsukoshi clerks. Mitsukoshi, for those who don’t know, is similar to Harrods in London and Saks Fifth Avenue in New York. It’s for people with money and not the unwashed saving up to buy a Nakaya.

As such, there are no small stores selling pens, no vintage pens, and no fountain pen peripherals for sale. Although Mitsukoshi has a stationery section, there are no pen cases or pen cleaning items for sale. There’s also very little or ink, except that produced by one of the big pen companies. Sailor’s ink mixing master usually makes an appearance at the show, but he wasn’t there today.

Each company provides their own pen repair expert, but only at certain times on certain days. It’s all very serious and there’s also not a lot of charm or passion.

Th Pilot Pens section. The man in the front is repairing pens.

The Pilot Pens section. The man in the front is repairing pens. There’s not much passion on display here.

For example, Pelikan had an impressive display where visitors could try pens of different sizes with different nibs. It looked cool and after playing with the larger pens, I asked if I could take a picture. The clerk half scoffed/half sneered a “no you can’t take a picture.” I walked away saying that I didn’t realize that “Pelikan” was German for “asshole”. I may have to work that into my vocabulary: “Watch where you’re walking, Pelikan,” “Hey, Pelikan, stop trying to cut in line,” or “Hey, Pelikan, let me take a picture of your pen display.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever go again. That’s a lie. I’ll be there again next year.

Good Things Come in Threes a Bunch at a Time

I’m trying to figure out if I bought some notebooks or a bunch of Beanie Babies.

First you have to understand how particular I am about notebooks and how the internet creates odd groups and fads.

As a writer I’ve worked my way through different types of notebooks depending on whatever phase/pretension I was in the middle of. I also always had problems with every notebook I ever had. There were those that were too precious, those that had spiral binding and those that were too thick. The latter were especially a problem as I’d soon get tired of carrying the large notebooks and start leaving them at home. Looking back at those I still have, I doubt I ever used every page of one.

Several years ago I stumbled across a line of notebooks called Moleskine. They were, at the time, fairly expensive, even for Japan but were pocket sized and well made. They also included a built in bookmark, a storage pocket, and an elastic band that held them shut. I bought a couple and then, when I got home, discovered in the storage pocket a little card that explained the history of the Moleskines. It involved Picasso and Hemingway and was such bullshit that I actually felt as if I’d been duped buying the notebooks.

Eventually, I worked my way through one book and started using the other. Of course, me being me, I cut out the bookmark (it’s annoying) and ripped out the elastic closure (also annoying). I won’t buy anymore because 1) they are now absurdly expensive, especially for Japan; 2) they aren’t that good; 3) despite not being very good they’ve remained too trendy; and 4) despite being trendy, no one can agree on how to pronounce their name (Moleskin; Moleskeen; or MolaSkeena). The latter is apparently the most accurate, but it’s too pompous to be taken seriously. It’s like going to Starbucks and using an Italian accent to order a frappuccino.

Instead I’ve recently been a convert to Field Notes. Field Notes are pocked sized journals with 48 pages (usually). I’ve already found them more convenient than the thicker Moleeseekineikies (or however you say it). They are easier to carry and it’s easier to find the notes you made. I’ve already finished a book and have stocked up on a few extra. I even, as part of the tithing I’ve mentioned before, subscribed to their annual limited editions.

The problem with Field Notes, though, is those limited editions (called COLORS). Basically every three months the masterminds behind the Chicago based Field Notes put out a special edition to subscribers. Each set comes in a pack of three notebooks and there is violence involved with people who throw away the band that holds them together (more on that later). Each subscriber receives two packs of the special edition and two packs of the company’s generic notebooks.

They started out with simple colors but have since been embossed, enlarged, waterproofed, clad in wood and even given out at random in sealed boxes. The newest versions have been wood type printed at a museum in Wisconsin and part of every sale goes to the support the museum.

The problem is the community that’s grown up around Field Notes can be both exciting and kind of scary. Some of the early limited editions can sell for hundreds of dollars if they are still in their sealed three pack. Serious collectors trade and deal to get complete sets (as of yesterday there are 26 limited “COLORS” editions). They also try to acquire custom versions made for businesses and conventions. Even the paper bands that hold them together have become collectible.

A few months ago Brad Dowdy of the Pen Addict opened a rare set and started using it. The reaction surprised him and he kept pointing out that he got them to use not to resell. It might have a high value now, but he bought it to use and because he liked the color. (Rather than freaking out, the collectors should have thanked him for increasing the value of their holdings.)

A few weeks ago I ordered a couple sets of a version called “America The Beautiful” from a store here in Japan. The day after my order was confirmed, the store, having apparently dealt with serious collectors before, contacted me to tell me that one of the sets had accidentally been opened and the decal lost. (Some of the sets come with extras.) If I wanted to cancel my order they understood. I didn’t cancel and they threw in a free set of a different, less popular COLORS edition.

What it reminds me the most of, at this point, is the Beanie Babies craze. That bubble cost people lots of money and even a couple lives. The best thing about the notebooks is that even if there’s a collapse, the collector at least has something they can actually use.

As for me, I’m not that interested in the collecting, especially as I tend to abandon collections after a certain point. That said, if someone wants to send me lots money for anything I own, I’ll be happy to ship it to you.

This stuff might get someone killed.

This stuff might get someone killed.

Avril and the Spy Quarters and the Witch’s Doll

Although I’ve traditionally had a very short temper, as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned a few things about revenge.

Several years ago there was a strange series of stories about Canada’s poppy quarters and whether or not they were actually listening devices. This was, of course, poppy cock, because everyone knows that Canada gets all its intel from the hundreds of comedians it exports to the USA every year. (Although, it should be added, that now that most filming is done in Canada, Canada’s spy chiefs are a bit confused at the chatter coming in.)

We are listening to you, eh?

We are listening to you, eh?

Although this odd controversy proved true everything I think about government–too many people, too much money, not enough brains–a Canadian colleague of mine decided it proved everything he thought about the USA–too, well, I didn’t actually listen when he complained so I’m not sure what the complaints were. He therefore determined that he would slip spy quarters in our stuff and let us discover them in our own good time.

Let me say that again: To mock my country he was going to give me money. Mock on, I say. Mock on.

We, his colleagues, found the quarters right way. That’s when the revenge ensued. We agreed not to mention it just to see how long it took him to crack and bring it up himself. It took just over two weeks of him hint dropping before he finally just asked us if we’d found them.

The other revenge involved Avril Lavigne. A different Canadian colleague knew that I was not a big fan of the Canadian crooner and after he somehow “stumbled across” one of her posters. (i.e. took a spare one off his wall at home) he decided to use it as a joke. When arrived at work the next day, Avril Lavigne was tacked above my desk taunting me about why I had to make things so complicated and why I could actually spell “skater”.

I knew this would require a special level of revenge. I left the poster in place as inspiration and tried to think of a good way to get back at him. Two years later, my colleague was cleaning out his desk and commented that there was a shocking amount of brown twine in his desk. (The brown twine is used to bind bundles of exams.) He said “what is this, something from the Blair Witch Project?”

A bell went off in my head and my hunting dog ears went up and I knew I had the revenge. I got a bunch of brown twine and shaped it like a voodoo doll. I cut Avril Lavigne’s face out of the poster and stuck it to the voodoo doll and put it in his desk drawer.

He reacted exactly the way I hoped he would but the last bit of revenge happened when he got ready to go home. I’d made a second doll and put it in his coat pocket. He found that one when he went to put on his gloves.

 

I haven’t had to do anything like that for a while, but now that I have fifty cents Canadian listening to everything I say, I’d probably better get ready for something to happen.