Category Archives: Random

Lacking Grace and All Sense of Balance

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This one time, I fell in a rice paddy. The funny part is, I was sober when I did it.

After I moved to Nou-Machi, I was presented with an apartment and a bicycle. The bicycle was just barely the right size but I could get around on it. The biggest problem, at least at first, was that second gear didn’t work.

I drove it for a long time until second gear started causing the chain to slip and me to swear and me to spend time trying to fix it which caused me to swear some more.

Eventually, I took it to the town to be repaired. They didn’t repair it. Instead they gave me a new bike. Unfortunately, they didn’t bother actually measuring me to see what size bike I actually needed. Instead they ordered the Gargantua model which was too big for me. Despite that problem, I used the bike a lot but was never comfortable with its size.

Also, to understand how I ended up in a rice paddy, you also have to understand that 1) there was a rice paddy right next to my apartment; and 2) I lost a fair amount of weight while I was in Nou-machi. (Not as much as I’d lose in Albania, but that’s another story.) This made my jeans and shirts baggy.

Then, one day, for reasons I don’t remember, I was in a hurry. I rushed back to my apartment, rode my bicycle up to its parking place under the stairs and attempted a dismount (official level of difficulty: 2).

However, the crotch of my baggy jeans caught on the seat and and everything shifted toward me and I started to lose my balance.

An observer would have, well, observed a tall foreigner on Gargantua’s bicycle doing a slow “TIIIIMBEEEER” back into the rice paddy which, by the way, had meter high walls. Luckily for the tall foreigner, the rice was tall but not yet ready for harvest and that helped break his fall and make the situation less messy than it could have been.

I landed on my back and the bike landed on top of me. After a few moments I managed to extricate myself from the bike and then exit the rice paddy.

I ended up with gray clay mud all over my shoes, jeans and book bag. I left an impressive divot in the still growing rice, too. (To this day, I’d love to have seen the farmer’s reaction to that divot.)

In the aftermath, I had to run my shoes through the washing machine to make them even remotely useable.

I never did that again but, quite frankly, once was one time too many.

Three Hundred Sixty-Five

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In God’s name and under the stars, what for? –Jack Kerouac On the Road

It seemed to be a good idea at the time. — The Magnificent Seven

 

I really need to be more careful about getting inspired by friends.

A year ago, a friend of mine was coming to the end of a year long project to write a blog post every day. In a fit of madness, I decided that was a good idea and started doing it myself on February 20, 2014.

Today marks the end of that the year and the start of a crisis about what to do next.

I’m still amazed I managed to pull it off without missing a post (there were days, though, there were days). I did make a few changes along the way. I started going to bed at 11 which cut down my writing time. I also started shortening my minimum word count to 300 words instead of the original 400.

At times it has been a struggle, especially this past week. Last night’s post, in particular, was a bunch of crap that came to me after staring at the screen for nearly 20 minutes and thinking about the quote that started this post. (It’s probably my worse post, although that’s debatable.)

Sitting down to write without having a topic ready has actually happened several times. Sometimes I’ve been pleased with the posts, most of the time not.

Readership, according to analytics, has been small but consistent with periodic bursts of readership, usually as a result of something I’ve done on another site.

On three occasions, WordPress has crashed as I pressed “Publish” and I’ve lost the post and had to start over. No, I didn’t learn to save as I went along and, no, I didn’t copy the text before hitting publish, just in case. It brings to mind the old saying:

Fool me once, shame on you;
Fool me twice, shame on me:
Fool me thrice, I’m a moron.

Something like that.

Now, as I start the second year, I’ve got a few changes in mind. My goal is to keep up the daily posts, but the nature of the posts will change. Now that I’m not worried about losing track of which post I’m on, I’ll start doing multiple posts each day. I’ll publish a few photos and start doing  book reviews and product reviews (probably fountain pens and pen related goods). I’ll also start posting articles from other sites I find interesting and or amusing. I hope to keep my own content going and will do at least one such post a day, but probably a lot shorter than what I’ve been doing.

At least once a week, maybe twice, I’ll do a much longer post.

Eventually, I will assemble the Albania posts and the Japan posts as an ebook of some sort.

In the end, I’m glad I did it. I wasn’t always happy writing the posts, but I was always happy to have written them. I think there are more pearls than swine here, but I’m not necessarily the best judge of that.

Thanks to all of you who’ve followed along for the entire year, and to those who have commented on Facebook or on this site.

I hope you’ll stick around.

Bigfoot, The Pen Detective, and the Knife Store

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Perhaps the oddest thing the internet has done to me is turn me into a pen detective.

This happened because I listen to a podcast about pens, paper and ink. Yes, there really is such a thing. There is also a website about it, too. (No, I don’t have a problem. I can quit anytime I want. It’s just now is not the time to quit. Something like that.)

Last week, Brad Dowdy, the founder of The Pen Addict website retweeted a photo of a pen. The pen was an orange version of a Pilot Vanishing Point (or Capless) fountain pen (the crack cocaine/gateway drug of fountain pens). The problem was, because of the photo’s lighting and the placement of the product, the pen appeared to be glossy orange and black rather than metallic orange and black. This prompted a great deal of discussion on the podcast and I said I’d go check it out. They immediately dubbed the pen “Bigfoot” because although there was a picture, it probably didn’t actually exist.

Keep in mind, I did not do this detective work because I’m a good person, I did it because 1) the shop where Bigfoot allegedly lived is an awesome place for pen addicts to visit; 2) it is near a famous knife shop; and 3) it is only three stops from one of the few places that sells size 13 (US) shoes for less than the cost of a small car. Three birds. One trip. That’s what I call efficiency.

I went to the pen shop first, found the pen and took a few pictures to prove it was the metallic version and not a mythical beast that doesn’t exist. Well, sort of. More on that later.

(Note to Pilot Pens: if that pen were to suddenly exist, it would sell like crazy. Call me. We’ll talk.)

I then went across the street to The Edge knife shop to look at a couple knives. (I ended up buying one and can’t recommend it enough for people looking for an inexpensive small knife.)

After that, I went down to Gotanda for big shoes. I came home to find the house had been flooded.

It was a great way to get out of the house and it earned me a small shout out on Pen Addict 142.

The funny part is, in the end, the only Bigfoot was me.

The Flood and the Anger

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Today I got to see She Who Must Be Obeyed get really angry. Surprisingly, it wasn’t at me.

I had to go down to Tokyo today to do some running and buy some shoes at one of the few shoe stores in Japan that specializes in shoes for big feet. While I was away, the girls were all working on making chocolate for Valentine’s day. (As I’ve written before, in Japan the women give the chocolate to the men.) It’s actually good for me to be away when this is going on because 1) I sample and 2) there’s always some arguing going on between the chefs.

I would save my sampling until I got back from Tokyo.

However, when I returned, I walked into the aftermath of a flood. The washing machine drain in the apartment directly above us had apparently stopped up and water had flooded the apartment. She Who Must Be Obeyed discovered this when she heard water dripping on our ceiling. Then water began dripping FROM our ceiling.

When I arrived home at 2:30 or so, the management company still hadn’t arrived even though the flood had occurred at 11:00. The candy factory had been stowed in the living room and there was a pot of leftover curry on my desk. There were also buckets on the floor in the kitchen.

She Who Must Be Obeyed ranted to me about the situation and then called the management company, who suddenly started acting like a cable company. (Someone will be there. They will do something. No details to follow. You will see them when you see them.)

Eventually, the Japanese equivalent of the Roto-Rooter man cleaned out the drain upstairs and started to leave. She Who Must Be Obeyed grabbed him and made him clean our drain, too, and quizzed him about what was going to happen next. He grudgingly did the work and told us the water would eventually stop dripping.

That’s when I got mad and pointed out that just because it wasn’t dripping, didn’t mean there wasn’t still water on our ceiling. Then there was the mold and mildew problem that would occur if it was still wet. He said–in a very polite Japanese way–that he wasn’t there to do anymore than than he’d already done. Then he left.

The water did eventually stop dripping down our walls but we are still worried about what is still up there. SWMBO is already planning her argument for why we should get our rent lowered again. (Long story.)

On top of all of it, I didn’t get any chocolate.

Bad Things Come in Phones for Knives

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Today was Friday the Thirteenth and it produced a horror story. The horror story, as many horror stories do, involved the post office.

First, you have to understand, the day started well. It’s “marathon” day at the school which means there wasn’t much for me to do other than finish preparing a final exam. That part went well. Once that was over, I set out to pursue a number of simple tasks.

My first task was to get money (today was payday) and deposit part of it in the rent account. That went surprisingly smoothly, which should have been a warning for what happened next.

My second task was to mail a knife to its manufacturer in the USA for a warranty repair. I didn’t have to wait long, which was good, and then presented my parcel to the lady behind the counter. She asked what was in it, I said a knife going to the USA for repair.

There was the sound of teeth sucking. She then asked what kind of knife it was. I said it was a small folding knife and repeated that it was going to the USA for repair. More teeth were sucked and she consulted another clerk. Bringing someone else into the situation meant the situation had escalated to Wakarimasen Dekimasen and I was probably in trouble. The other clerk, who had helped me send parcels a few times, eventually told me that I’d have to wait for a while.

I frowned but remained calm (since I was carrying a knife this was a good idea, which is why I’m surprised I did it). A few minutes later, I saw the first clerk was talking to someone on the phone. I swore to myself and put the box back in my bag and waited. As rule, nothing good ever comes from a Japanese consulting someone on the phone.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, I was informed that the post office couldn’t ship small folding knives to the USA because DEAD PEOPLE! but if it was a 10 inch butcher knife that would have been okay. I asked if her if she knew what the word “Bullshit” meant. She didn’t.

Once again, I didn’t argue very long. I was already packed so I just left and went about the rest of my tasks for the day. I was, of course, carrying a knife the entire time.

When I got home, I consulted a YouTube friend of mine who is the only Japanese gun owner and knife enthusiast I know. In fact, the knife I was sending in for repair I got from him. (The problems were not his fault.)

He explained that he’d had this trouble and that it seemed to stem from a misreading of a bulletin sent by the post office about the dangers of knives and hijackings and a general Japanese paranoia of knives. He said he’d had to prove that several Japanese knife companies use the post office to ship their products to the USA and that since then he hadn’t had much trouble.

The funny part is, when I got home, there was a knife waiting for me. It had been shipped from the USA and delivered via the Japanese Post office. I guess that’s safer than shipping things the other way.

Side Note: If you’re interested in my friend’s videos and Japanese hunting, you can check out his English language videos here. Be warned, though, that some are pretty bloody and you will be appalled at how much meat he leaves behind. In his defense, he gets dozens of deer a year.

A Story of the Flouting Flautist

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Today we bought our oldest a flute and I started having flashbacks.

About 800 years ago (plus or minus a few years), when I was starting junior high school in Hayden, Colorado (or maybe it was before that when my helicopter was taking rocket fire from the knights in the Third Crusade; it all runs together) I remember being taken to a large room where some guy tried to sell us musical instruments. Although I expressed a brief interest in the saxophone, I ended up with a trumpet.

All I remember about that was the trumpet was made by F. E. Olds, who pretty much closed up shop right after my parents brought the trumpet. I also have the number $250 stuck in my head ($815 now) and that may have been the price of the thing. I played all through junior high and high school and then finally gave up the trumpet.

After delaying almost two years, and with the promise that she’ll keep using it in high school (long story involving getting recommendations is involved there) we finally decided it was time to retire the old school flute and buy her a flute of her own.

First, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I had a consult on our acceptable price range and SWMBO surprised me with number much higher than I expected her to say. After treating me with an AED we went to a local shop and began choosing flutes. This involved our oldest practicing with different flutes (and actually impressing the sales lady).

Although our oldest knew what the approximate price range was–for the record, it was not my idea to tell her–or perhaps because she knew it, she managed to play the more expensive flutes better than the cheaper flutes. I was ready to do a blind test to see if she was just messing with us, but I know from experience a better made instrument sounds better than a cheap instrument.

In the end, she’d narrowed her choice down to the Damned Expensive One and the Freaking Expensive One (not actual brand names), and seemed to be favoring the Damned Expensive One. However, She Who Must Be Obeyed kept saying to get the Freaking Expensive One and I kept looking for an AED to use on her in lieu of professional shock therapy.

In the end, our oldest chose the Freaking Expensive One and has agreed, although she doesn’t know it yet, to wash dishes for 20 years (or until she’s 20, something like that). All we, the parents, got was a bottle of cheap Bordeaux.

Yes, that’s right, the store gave us a bottle of wine after the purchase to help us ease the pain.

The Last Temptation of Campus

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Back when I was in graduate school, I decided to see how many Christians I could possibly anger at once.

In my defense, I wasn’t the only one who thought this would be a good idea.

For reasons I don’t remember, I was part of a group called Kaleidoscope Films. Kaleidoscope operated out of the Student Union and specialized in bringing “little” and/or “artsy-fartsy” films (a technical term) to the union. Each member was assigned to recommend a film and then the group discussed and voted on them.

Once a film was chosen, a couple members were assigned to handle publicity.  This meant we had to make a large poster to put outside the Union Forum Hall and a smaller poster that fit on an A-Frame somewhere else on campus. This was all pretty painless and involved projectors and minimal art skills and couple hours every couple of weeks.

At least that’s what it involved before we decided to bring Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ to campus. We did this even though it had never been shown in Manhattan, Ks during its original release and even though we knew some people would have “issues” with it.

Like all things involving blasphemy and religion and evil, several meetings with “important authority figures” (IAF; another technical term) ensued. We were basically told to justify bringing such a controversial movie to campus and were are also assured, in so many words, that “free speech” was not an acceptable reason. So there.

In one meeting, I think with the man in charge of the Student Union, a group of us fielded several questions about our choice. The meeting was tense and we were all intimidated by the IAF and were stumbling around trying to avoid using the phrase “free speech.” At some point, the man asked why the movie was even worth seeing since someone in our group had just admitted it wasn’t textually accurate.

For some reason, although I knew better, the devils over my shoulders took over and I started talking.

Keep in mind, as you read what comes next, I don’t think I’d actually seen the movie or read the book at that point.

Also keep in mind that if you’re relying on ME to say the right thing, you are in desperate, desperate trouble.

I told the IAF that the movie allowed the director to focus on one element of the Christ story: his part human side. By trimming down the actual text, the director could explore that issue more than had been in other movies about Christ. It explored what was good about being human and what Christ was giving up to be the messiah. (I actually said more than that, but that was the gist of it.)

Whatever I said, it worked and we were allowed the show the movie. I don’t take credit for it, because a lot of people worked hard, but our chairwoman told me my answer was perfect. We did have to host a discussion about the movie, which is a policy exception we didn’t have to make for other movies. (If you search “The Last Temptation” in this link you can read Kansas State Collegian articles about the controversy.)

Although it did have some great moments, I was underwhelmed by the movie. The ending was kind of predictable.

A Super Bowl Without Chips or Salsa or Beer

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Although I managed to watch the Super Bowl, I have to admit it loses something at 8:30 in the morning on a Monday.

(Note: Officially, today I worked and wrote an exam.)

Basically, I was the guy in the GoDaddy commercial who didn’t have a party because he had to work (and wants to die younger and raise a kid who sings Harry Chapin songs and stars in Nissan commercials). But unlike the guy working in the office, I had a way to stream the Super Bowl and could watch it while I worked.

Unfortunately, because the Super Bowl started at 8:30 in the morning here in Japan it was way too soon for chips and salsa and little too early for beer.

Also, getting proper chips and proper salsa here in Japan requires shady mafia connections and/or exorbitant personal loans.

Despite the dry nature of the event, eat least for me, it was fun to watch it with friends all over the world as if we were all in one room commenting on what we were seeing. Seeing their comments and inflicting my comments on them, even sight unseen (or perhaps especially sight unseen) brought back some of what makes the Super Bowl fun.

Another part of the fun for me, especially when I don’t give a crap about either team, is seeing the way the commercials change from year to year. Last year’s seemed more patriotic, but since one of this year’s teams was called the Patriots, I guess that would have been seen as press bias (and we know how worried the press are about seeming biased).

However, there has to be something between “America, F@#k Yeah!” and “Let’s all take pills together, hold hands in a circle, and die.” (Cue cowbell and “Don’t Fear the Reaper.)

I see Nationwide has defended killing a kid during the Super Bowl (so to speak) by falling back on the notion that they were just trying to start a conversation about kid safety. By the same logic, if I call a woman a “Fat Bitch” I can defend myself by saying I’m trying to start a conversation on societal weight standards and sexist language.

Next year, if I’m “writing an exam” again, I may find a way to have proper chips and salsa, or a bowl full of Chex mix nearby.

If I do, though, I’ll end up being the fat bitch.

Resistance Friends and Getting Pushed Around

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It’s a sign that I attend too many knife shows that 1) the organizers are sending me invitations and 2) I’m starting to make friends with some of the knife makers.

Today, however, there was a surprising amount of pushing and shoving going on.

Today was the Ginza Blade Show, which is the first knife show of the year in the Tokyo area and, if today was any indication, is also one of the best attended. Since my short bout of flu seemed to be over (except for the feeling of weakness caused by taking medicine and then suddenly going off of it) I met up with my Canadian friend and we ventured down to Ginza.

I got there second and my Canadian friend was deep into temptation.  He kept reaching for his credit cards and then snapping his hand back to a safe location. He accused me a not warning him that it was a fixed blade show (he’s a big fan of fixed blade knives) and I said I didn’t know that because we hadn’t actually visited that one in 2014.

Being the first show of the season, and being in a small room, it was too crowded for comfort. On several occasions I was looking at at knife and then suddenly found myself being pushed out of the way or over the table. I had to try to catch myself without dropping the knife, stabbing someone, or cutting my hand on the other knives on the table.

When we weren’t being pushed around, we talked with Ihara To-un, an older knife maker who’s kind of become our friend (at least he said we were his friends, right before interrogating me about whether or not I’ve actually used the knife I bought from him–I assured him I have). My Canadian friend made an order for a knife while I reached for my credit cards and then snapped my hand back to a safe location.

We also had a nice chat with the very colorful “Hank” Ishihara, who dresses like a cowboy, usually has a fake revolver on his table and makes knives that are more art and jewelry than functional. His knives are intricately carved and often have stones set in the blade and he proves you can shine light through it. His knives are right at the edge of tacky, but are still kind of cool in an expensive “I’d rather have that double-ended liner-lock pocket knife than a MacBook Air” kind of way.

There was also a guy who made knives from materials like onyx and agate which, while beautiful, seem rather impractical. That said, he has his sales pitch down and proved they could cut. Once again, they were kind of cool, but seemed different for the sake of being different. (They also seem like something you could strap to your ankle and carry through airport security, which makes them a different kind of cool.)

In three, weeks, we head to the Tokyo Folding Knives Show, which is one of the more interesting shows. I’ll have to leave my money and credit cards with She Who Must Be Obeyed before that one.

Some of the Sports None of the Hype

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I used to watch Monday Night Football with an elderly lady and guy with Jeff Beck’s hair. We mostly discussed literature and movies. We also ate pizza and, on occasion, watched and discussed the game.

This is the way I liked to watch sports and it’s one of the few sports-related things I miss from the USA. Well, that and March Madness (aka: the National Collegiate Athletic Association’s annual men’s basketball championship tournament).

(Note: there is also a women’s basketball tournament, but no one really knows much about that.)

I also miss being able to sit down and watch a random game on television and have that game NOT be baseball. Every now and then I can watch a game at my in-laws house or via the magic powers of the internet. (Don’t ask. Don’t tell.) and that satisfies my craving for familiar sports.

I even kind of miss the Super Bowl, although, once again, I think I remember family gatherings with family friends, including a guy who made wicked Southern Fried Chicken, more than I remember the games.

What I don’t miss is the endless hype, for any and all sporting events, but especially for the Super Bowl.

The two weeks before the Super Bowl is one of the most painful times to be a sports’ fan. There are random experts breaking down who is going to win using more pseudo-science than gets dragged into the global warming discussion. At some point the game became about the commercials and the half-time show. (Unfortunately, I probably have my beloved Denver Broncos and their blowouts to blame for that.)

If you’re not interested in either of the teams playing, the two weeks becomes especially long. This year at least sports fans had deflated balls to handle, so to speak, during the two weeks of hell so I hope they enjoyed the distraction.

The best thing about the Super Bowl, though, is it means it’s time to start watching college basketball and preparing for March Madness.