Waxing Philosophical in a Parking Lot

   It's the last day of the school year here at Ye Olde Academy.  All of the students of grades 7,8, 10, and 11 just have the closing ceremony, the farewell ceremony for the departing teachers, and the final homeroom period to bring everything to a close.  The 12th graders graduated last week, so they're long gone.  Grade 9?  Their junior high graduation ceremony is today.  Because of that, the 12th grade staff (including me) are in charge of the South Parking Lot, where the parents attending the ceremony will park.  It's the fourth time this year that I've done it.  The South Parking Lot is just a big, open expanse which is partly paved, partly gravel, and partly dirt.  There are no lines indicating parking spaces, so it's up to us to prevent that mass of automotive humanity from dissolving into a jumbled-up mess.

   Left to their own devices, they undoubtedly will.

   When the crunch hits, things will get tense, but we have a full staff on duty, and they have a plan all worked out.  (That's a benefit of having math and science teachers on hand.)  But for a while at least things will stay quiet...or at least relatively so.  There are actually lots of sounds.

   The South Parking Lot is the extreme southern end of the Ye Olde Academy campus.  Its southern border is a row of (not yet blooming) cherry trees followed by a wire fence.  Behind that is the steep rise of the earthen wall atop which the Oarai-Kashima Line runs.  And behind that?  A solid cloud of trees that marks the edge of the Kashima Shrine forest.  This entire area including our campus was once included in the vast shrine precincts, but the current border was set sometime in the mid 20th century.  Now, standing and looking at that seemingly impenetrable mass of mostly evergreens beyond the rise of the rail line, one can't help but imagine Aragorn looking at Fangorn Forest with dread knowing that Merry and Pippin have gone inside.  I can almost hear Legolas saying, "The trees are angry!"

   Actually, there is plenty of forest on the campus bordering the north side of the parking lot and on the hill across the street.  There is lots of life in those trees, and it is announcing its presence.  All around me, a multitude of tree frogs is singing out its springtime passions.  It's quite a cacophony of croaking.  (A croakophony, perhaps?)  Every once in a while, as if on cue, the entire mass suddenly goes silent.  After a bit, it resumes again.

    The first car arrives.  It's a Lexus hybrid.  I think back to the sci-fi movies and TV shows I grew up with and the funky sounds that their futuristic vehicles made.  Usually it was some kind of buzzing or rapid pulse.  That eerie whine that the real thing makes here in the 21st century seems similar in some ways and darkly different in others.  At any rate, I always find the sound of the modern electric car somehow haunting.

   A train of the Oarai-Kashima Line passes by on its way to Mito.  It's diesel powered rather than electric, and this one is a single-car run.  It's basically a bus on rails.  It doesn't glide the way the electric trains do; the drone of its motor and the clickety-clack of its wheels make plenty of noise for such a small train.  The car itself doesn't sport the normal red, white, and black livery of the Oarai-Kashima Line.  Instead, it's painted in a colorful ocean scheme.  Most of its stops are near the coast, so that makes sense.

   Another car arrives followed soon afterward by another, and then a couple arrive at once.  The automotive tide is starting to come in.  Soon it will turn into a crunch.  The staff in the parking lot have been assigned areas, and now we are calling out to each other as we guide the cars around to the different zones.  "Ms. K, this one's yours!  Ms. I, take this one!  Mr. Y, this one's headed your way!  Kevin, the next one is yours!"  Most of the drivers follow our directions.  Most.  Lines and zones fill up, so we adjust to match.  Somehow we manage to fit them all in.  Just as we're starting to talk about emergency overflow contingencies, it all comes to an end.  The graduation ceremony has already started.  We downsize our staff so they can attend to other responsibilities, and we wait a little more just in case.  No more cars arrive, so the main office staff tell the remaining 12th grade teachers that we're done, and we head back to the school.

   Now I have to find something to do with myself until lunch.  Maybe I'll write a blog post...

Is Creative Emulation a Bad Thing?

 When I was returning home from a Christmas shopping adventure a couple of days ago, the Parallax album by the Japanese band THE RiCECOOKERS (That's how they write it) came up in my Wacky Racer's onboard music library.  It had been a while since I'd heard that album, and I noticed that my reaction to it had changed from the previous time.  I was actually enjoying it.

I bought the album when it first came out in 2013.  Songs by THE RiCECOOKERS had been used as the opening and ending themes for a Japanese TV series and subsequent run of movies called "SPEC".  I and my family had become fans of that series, so it only followed that we came to like THE RiCECOOKERS' music.  The final movie, which brought the story to an apocalyptic end, blew me away, and I left the theater with the end theme, the lead-off single from the Parallax album, ringing in my head.  I bought the album as soon as I was able, and I listened to it rather intensely for a while after that.

But then something happened.  THE RiCECOOKERS, though a Japanese band, had actually formed in Boston as all of the members had met at the Berklee College of Music.  Their style incorporated a number of stylistic influences, but unsurprisingly, 1990's alternative rock was the primary foundation.  I still wasn't all that familiar with the bulk of 90's music at the time, so it went past me.  However, a few years later my music "retro-education" began to focus on iconic 90's alternative rock, and eventually I made a discovery that was quite disappointing at the time.

A few years ago, as with this time, Parallax came up in my car's onboard library while I was out driving, and there was something that I noticed immediately:  "Hey, that song is Radiohead!  That one is Soundgarden, or at least Chris Cornell!  Radiohead again?  What's this, Mudhoney?  Now the Smashing Pumpkins, right down to imitating Bill Corgan's voice?"  Although the songs were original, and cool to boot, it was now obvious that the band had deliberately imitated the style and sound of iconic 90's bands.  That understanding made me feel both disappointed and annoyed, and I figured I didn't need to listen to that album anymore.

Stylistic emulation is nothing new here in the Land of the Rising Sun.  In fact, it's expected.  A LOT of popular artists over the years I've been here have been so blatant in their imitation that at times it has seemed almost comedic.  Some have taken well-known songs by the Beatles or Rolling Stones, for example, changed just a few notes, added their own lyrics, and topped the charts.  Historically, that has always irritated me.  But now I've come to realize that it may be a cultural thing.

In fact, when I first started becoming musically active here, playing clarinet in a community band, one of the first things I tended to be asked was, "Who is your favorite clarinetist?"  That question blindsided me, and when I answered that I didn't really have a favorite, I was met with confusion.  They would ask, "Then who is your role model?"  I would reply that I didn't really have one in particular, except perhaps my private instructor in my school days.  My "role model" was a combination of experience and various examples I'd heard over the years.  That was an answer that they found hard to comprehend.  It was generally assumed that everyone had a particular role model they tried to follow.  Obviously, it's the same in the rock genre.

Japanese artists I've come to like in recent years are really no different.  Superfly, especially in the beginning, modeled herself after Janis Joplin "without the problems".  Also, One OK Rock, who I've become rather a fan of recently, started out as a typical Japanese pop-punk band, but had their breakthrough when they started emulating the Foo Fighters and Linkin Park...and now they're emulating Queen.  The thing about both Superfly and One OK Rock, however, is that while they've based themselves on the stylistic foundation and vibe of their respective role models, their songs are original and quite good.  One could listen to a One OK Rock song off their 35xxxv album and think, "Hey, they sound kind of like Linkin Park," but no one would ever mistake them for Linkin Park.  The same is true of Superfly.  They emulate their role models to various extents, but with their own distinctive flavor.

And now I realize that THE RiCECOOKERS did the same thing.  So I suppose it makes more sense for me just to get off my high horse, shut the hell up, and enjoy the music.

The Meaning of Family

 Last August my wife realized she hadn't talked to her Uncle T in Tokyo for a while, so she gave him a call. He gave her some disturbing news. During the months since we'd last heard from him, he had developed a serious health problem that had left him weakened. He was no longer able to go out as before, and since he lived alone in his old family homestead, he was kept under surveillance by a security firm in cooperation with his doctor. The public welfare department of his local city ward delivered a boxed meal to him every day, but it usually contained oily food that his health problem prevented him from eating. He had literally gone for weeks eating almost nothing. Concerned, my wife tried calling his surviving direct family members only to be told that they were all dealing with chronic health issues, so she was basically given a "Don't tell us your problems" brush-off. Uncle T had been quite generous to us in the past. (For one thing, when my daughter went to college in Tokyo for four years and my son studied there for one year they lived in an extra house on his property which he was only too happy to let us borrow rent-free.)

There was no way we were going to leave him like that. So my wife suggested that he come and stay with us. Not liking to trouble people, he was hesitant at first, but after we discussed the matter with his doctor he changed his mind. We arranged for him to come and stay with us after completing a final battery of tests at his hospital in Tokyo, which would mean sometime in October. Fate had other plans. In mid September, while my son happened to be home visiting, he got a call from Uncle T on his smartphone. Uncle T had fallen down and was unable to get back up. The security company that was supposed to be monitoring him hadn't responded, and he'd already been there for quite a while. My son immediately notified my wife, and she and my daughter ran down to Tokyo, picked him up, and brought him home. Thus started his stay with us. (The security company later alerted his doctor that "unauthorized people" had moved him. Thanks for nothing.)

We put him in my son's bedroom and set to work making our home a bit more senior citizen friendly. He was able to move around pretty well on his own, so we didn't have to worry about him much. Besides, since he hated to trouble people, he was content to remain as quiet and unobtrusive as possible, mainly spending his time either reading or watching TV. However, eating was always an issue. We managed to increase the amount he ate little by little, and he seemed to be getting better, but it was like feeding a toddler; trying to get him to eat at all could be a challenge, and he tended to complain about the food. Most of the time something was too cold, too bland, terrible, unknown and therefore not wanted, something he never ate, etc. He kept trying to demand sweets instead of real food. A lot of my wife's money and work wound up going into the trash. My wife took him shopping to get some new clothes, and he insisted on only really expensive items. Serious respiratory problems meant he coughed and wheezed loudly all the time. Plus, he had some lifestyle habits that proved to be an issue with certain family members.

Whether he was quiet and unobtrusive or not, after a week of his living with us our nerves were starting to fray along with our tempers. Things were on the verge of boiling over.

We had his address registry changed so our home would be his official abode henceforth. However, he was still under the care of the hospital in Tokyo, and his tests weren't complete. On September 28th, after he'd been with us for about two weeks, my wife took him to the hospital for the next stage. The doctor's prognosis was damning. Uncle T had developed yet another chronic health problem to add to the pile. The doctor went so far as to say, "When it's this far gone, there's no chance of recovery. It's hopeless." Not surprisingly, Uncle T's mood became a lot darker after that. That evening he said he wanted neither dinner nor a bath and went straight to bed.

On Thursday the 29th all three of us had to work, but Uncle T had been perfectly find with that thus far. He'd been able to get around the house and take care of himself quite handily for the most part, so we had no reason to worry. Before I left I looked in on him just in case, and he was resting peacefully. I came home earlier than usual from Ye Olde Academy, and when I arrived I found the breakfast and lunch that my wife had prepared for him and his newspaper untouched and he was nowhere to be seen. That was odd, and I had a bad feeling. I went into his room and found him on the floor next to his bed.

"Help me!" he said. He then told me that he'd been there all day.

That seemed odd. He had a ladder-like rail next to his bed designed to help elderly or handicapped people get in and out of bed. Why hadn't he used it at least to raise himself to a sitting position so he could reach his smartphone? Anyway, I tried to help him to his feet, but he couldn't stand, so I lifted him onto the bed. That's when I noticed a certain smell. It wasn't the smell of unwashed old man (though there was that, too) but rather one that I remembered from when our poor cat Hana died. The smell of kidney failure. I asked if I should call an ambulance or take him to the hospital in my car. He insisted he was fine and that he would get up on his own. He did so, rising to his feet and putting on his slippers. But when he tried to walk he managed only two or three steps before he froze and started to collapse. I caught him and guided him back to the bed, but though his eyes were open he was totally unresponsive as if having some sort of seizure. Once he was snuggled back in his bed he snapped out of it, so I asked him again if I should call for an ambulance.

"Don't bother," he said with a smile. "I'm going to die tomorrow."

I told him to stop being foolish, but he insisted adamantly that he just wanted to be left alone to rest. That was when my wife came home. She managed to get him to drink and eat a little bit, but he continued to demand that we not take him to the hospital, saying that he just wanted to relax and watch TV. So we got him comfortable, turned on his TV, and left him so we could have dinner. After we finished eating, my wife, daughter, and I had a conference to discuss the situation and how well we were(n't) handling the stress. Things got rather intense, but after things calmed down again my wife asked me to go check on Uncle T.

I went into his room to find the TV on and him facing it with eyes wide open, but immediately a whole lot of things felt wrong. He didn't acknowledge me in any way, and I felt no vibes from him at all...as if he were furniture. I touched his hand and it was ice cold. His joints were stiff. He didn't respond to me, and checks for respiration and pulse were both negative. His pupils were fixed and dilated. I told my wife to call an ambulance and started CPR.

The fire station paramedics were there within five minutes and hooked him up to an automatic defib machine and respirator. The ambulance paramedics arrived a few minutes after that and connected up a machine I'd never seen before like a sort of mechanical CPR robot. Once he was secure in that arrangement they put him in the ambulance and took him off to a hospital in Hokota.

I know that hospital well. It's owned and run by a whole family of doctors I've known (and some of them I've taught) for years. Moreover, both MIL and FIL passed away there. We waited there while personnel ran in and out of the treatment room accompanied by the constant *thump thump thump* of the CPR machine. After quite a while, the doctor we know well (and didn't seem pleased to see us) came and told us that they'd managed to get his heart moving, but only a little and only for a short time, and there was no sign of brain activity. He said there was virtually no hope of recovery. Later, another doctor took over and recommended against further resuscitation. My wife gave her consent and the plug was pulled.

When Uncle T was in his thirties back in the 1980's he'd had lung cancer and hadn't been expected to survive, but he had, and his cancer had gone into full remission. He'd survived long enough to care for his mother until she died in 2011. After that he'd just entertained himself as best he could while trying to stay out of everyone else's way. And like I said, we were in his debt. We didn't expect his stay with us to end so abruptly and so unexpectedly, but he didn't want to trouble anyone, and at least he didn't suffer. I hope we did the right thing.

And now that we're having to deal with the funeral arrangements and a lot of other things, and seeing which relatives are helping and which are leaving us holding the bag, I hope we will continue to do the right thing.

Because we're family.

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My Complicated Relationship with Tsuchiura

Tsuchiura is arguably Ibaraki's #3 city behind Mito and Hitachi, but it is has plenty of significance.  It has had plenty of historical importance as a samurai clan domain, a castle town (though only bits of Kijo Castle remain, most of them replicas), and a way station along important roads and canals.  With the restoration of direct Imperial rule in the late 19th century and subsequent westernization of Japan, Tsuchiura became an important railway station.  Much later, in the 1980's, Tsuchiura became (rather grudgingly) a sort of gateway to the rapidly-developing Tsukuba Science City.

My first visit to the Land of the Rising Sun, during a college band tour in 1987, was to Tsukuba, and I went in by way of Tsuchiura.

When I came again in 1990 (and wound up staying), the city took on a whole new role for me.  Although I lived in the Kashima area, the majority of my ex-pat friends lived in villages near Tsuchiura, so the latter became both an important railway stop and a place we often went to for fun.  I came to like both the attractive lakeside views of the city and the fact that, despite being a city, it still had something of a small town vibe.  They also have some pretty amazing festival events there including one of the most famous fireworks displays in the nation.

When I ran into my Uncle Brad on a street in Tsuchiura one day totally out of the blue, it made the enchantment of the city even stronger.

But then things started happening.  I and several of my ex-pat friends noticed that, almost whenever we were in Tsuchiura Station, (mostly young) people kept jostling us as they passed even if it wasn't crowded.  On several occasions restaurants with "open" signs displayed told us they were closed when we tried to go in.  Then two of my ex-pat friends wound up attacked in the city, one by a group of chinpira (low-level Yakuza punks) and another by a passing high school student, and both were beaten rather badly.  The last straw came when I was talking to someone on a sidewalk, heard an engine behind me, looked over my shoulder, and jumped out of the way just in time as a BMW with four punks aboard (one of whom gave me the finger as they passed) narrowly missed me...on the sidewalk.  I was told by someone that there was apparently a lot of growing resentment against foreigners as a result of the cosmopolitan Tsukuba Science City next door.  I decided to give the city a wide berth from then on.

The opening of the Aeon Shopping Mall Tsuchiura about a decade ago gave me a reason to go back as they had a good music store, one of the first Starbucks and Tully's in Ibaraki, and a Tower Records.  But the Tower Records didn't last long, and coffee shops opened elsewhere, so I stopped going there.

Now my FIL has been hospitalized at the Tsuchiura Kyodo Hospital for more than a month.  I don't know how much longer he'll be there, but now Tsuchiura is once again an important regular stop.  As it happened, my wife and I wound up celebrating our 23rd wedding anniversary at an Italian restaurant there in the city.  So at least I have one new good memory to stick on the rather dismal-looking mental bulletin board.

Tsuchiura, you are ever an engima to me...

For more information:
http://www.tsuchiura-kankou.jp/en/index.html

To Lean...or Not to Lean...

   For most of my life, at least since my latter high school days, I have tried as much as possible to think independently. Instead of just toeing a line or going along with any of the “correct” ways of thinking du jour, I have tried to look at as many facts as I can obtain, consider all sides and all viewpoints, and arrive at my own judgment. Some have called it being a “geek”. Others have called it arrogance. Still others have called it indecision. At least one has called it cowardice. To me, it just makes rational sense.

   Of course, I haven’t always been successful. There have been times when I’ve been swayed by something like a moral outrage, a desire not to be ostracized, a hope to get along well with new friends, etc., and I’ve wound up aligning with a “side”. But on realizing I was starting to echo the cliches and labels of that group like a mindless puppet, I would pull away again...sometimes even flirting a bit with the “other side” to get me off the bandwagon and put me back on a more neutral footing.

   I hate bandwagons. Bandwagons are dangerous. They kill thought. Sometimes they kill people. Bandwagons are why millions were killed both in and by Germany and the USSR in the 1930’s and 40’s. Bandwagons are why Imperial Japan committed atrocities against its neighbors and its own people in the name of “saving” Asia from the West only to see the West reduce it to rubble.  Bandwagons are why thousands if not millions of people die every year.

   Bandwagons are why we’re not allowed to ask certain questions or think about certain things even if doing so is vital to solving certain problems.

   The fact that I’ve been punished many times either for refusing to align or for daring to speak about unspeakable things underscores this.

   I’ve been told that it’s possible to be TOO objective. Is that true? When is independent thought and judgment going too far? One of my biggest pet peeves is being told in an accusing tone that something I’ve said was something uttered by some reprehensible figure in the past. For example, I might make an observation about something and be told, “That’s what Che Guevara said!” Or I might list some facts about something and someone will retort, “That’s an argument the Nazis made!” And the intent in these comments is obviously to try to make me feel guilty for having thought “incorrectly”.

   That intent usually fails. It makes little logical sense. After all, water is still wet regardless of whether or not Pol Pot, Genghis Khan, Elmer Fudd, or whoever happened to have mentioned it years ago. And regardless of what arguments reprehensible people might have made in the recent or distant past, it is a fact that even hate speech is protected by law in the US (at least in most states), and trying to imply that I’m a racist for pointing that out is ludicrous. Facts are facts. Critical thinking is critical thinking. Evil figures in the past may pervert the meaning of innocent words or symbols (such as the swastika) to the point that only the bad meaning remains, but facts do not change.

   But where should we draw the line? Some years ago, a senior I was tutoring at the Japanese private school where I work told me that her planned research subject in her college days was Adolf Hitler. “Everyone thinks Hitler was evil,” she went on, “but I think he’s just misunderstood. He made some terrible mistakes, but he also did some very good things. I want people to understand that and remember him for the good things he did as well as the bad things.” That took me totally by surprise. I’m sure my left-leaning friends would have known exactly how to respond to that, but I was unsure how to proceed. As a teacher, I’ve tried to resist the temptation to push my own ideals, preferring to give the students different sides and let them think and make their own decisions. I wound up just saying, “That’s an original topic, and definitely interesting, but it’s both very complicated and very risky. Proceed carefully.” Was that a mistake? Should I have just dropped a couple of stock buzz-words and/or labels as a trump card against genuine critical thought? Or was I right to grant the student to think on her own even if she was entering what most would consider dangerous if not forbidden territory?

   Now I find myself confronted by similar dilemmas. If I ask what reason tells me should be asked and say what reason says should be said, I’m told I’m “insensitive” or “uninformed”. From the left come the labels of “bigot” or “racist”. From the right come “libtard” or “unamerican”. It seems few if any want to have anything to do with genuine critical thought because they’re too busy re-posting the latest Truth™ from their respective “sides” and echoing their respective “correct thinking”. So am I right in continuing to try to encourage people to think independently, or should I just “go blow”? Or should I heed the advice of so many, reset my brain from “active” to “passive” mode, take a “side”, and just start echoing the errors?

Another Year, Another Bon Festival. Or Was It...?

Another year, another Bon Festival.
Or was it...? 
  Yesterday, as usual, we started out by tending the family graves.  My job, as always, was getting the incense ready for everybody, and just when I finished lighting the last bunch (for myself), my lighter (a jet type and a veteran of five Bon Festivals) literally exploded, though luckily there was no fireball...and I had a backup.
  After coming home from that, the next item on the agenda was the traditional ritual of building a little fire to guide the spirits of our deceased family members home.  Eagle Scout though I am, I could not get the damned thing to ignite (what with the still rain-dampened ground, humidity-dampened paper and kindling, and cardboard apparently designed to smolder rather than burn), and I had both my son and my FIL try to take over.  I fought them off rabidly and eventually got the damned thing burning.  I hope the dead relatives enjoy their %$& visit...
  After that, my wife and I went around to pay our respects to families on our list (i.e. who my FIL knows) who had someone pass away within the past year, a task we always split with my FIL.  That meant navigating our way around those often insanely narrow country roads trying to find homes we didn't know together with many dozens of (mostly elderly and often obnoxious) other people all trying to do the same thing.  One fringe benefit was that it got my wife and I away from everyone else, so we were able to enjoy a brief afternoon date.
  Today we visited relatives to pay our respects.  We rather coldly hurried in and out again, avoiding the obligatory tea and conversation, so we could go back, have a quick lunch, and...
  ...clean FIL's house so it would look a bit less like a bombed-out ruin in the event of visitors.  He insisted no one would come and griped the whole time.  We ignored him and made his place a bit more presentable.  I was just finishing up vacuuming when the first guest showed up...
  After that, I went outside to work a bit at cleaning up MIL's rather neglected, little garden.  FIL had taken a grass cutter (weed eater?) to it, but it was still a mess of weed stubble, so I attacked it with a vengeance just as the rain started.  Seasoned Oregonian that I am, I refused to let precipitation stop me (while FIL kept insisting I pack it up and go back inside).  So it started pouring down...HARD.  Seasoned Oregonian that I am, I felt frustrated as hell for letting precipitation stop me...but not until I had at least worked to a reasonable stopping place.  I was pretty soaked and muddy when I finally went in.  Not surprisingly, within twenty minutes the rain had stopped and the sun was peeking through the clouds.
  Tomorrow my son is going to Tokyo to meet with his percussion clinician and buy his own set of tympani mallets at the Japan Percussion Center.  (At least it will cost a lot less than my clarinets and tenor sax cost MY parents.)  My wife and I are going on a much-needed extended date together.  My bank account can just wail and gnash its teeth.
Happy Bon, everyone!

A Short Adventure, But Oh, So Meaningful

Part One - Departure

"Excuse me," said the guy at the entrance to the Delta Airlines check-in area, singling me out from the group.  "What is your destination?"  He looked worried, and something told me it wasn't just lack of confidence in his English abilities.

I decided to make it easier on him anyway.  In Japanese, I replied, "I'm taking the direct flight to Portland."

Yes, a flight to Portland, and in May, to boot!  That had never happened before, and it shouldn't really have been happening then, either.  Circumstances were anything but ordinary.  My Aunt Judy had passed away earlier in the month.  I had heard the date of her memorial service less than a week before.  Normally I have to book a flight home more than a month in advance if I'm to stand any chance of getting a seat.  I knew I was battling impossible odds, but I decided to try for it anyway.  I arranged for time off from Ye Olde Academy (who were VERY understanding) and went to my usual travel agency just two days before I needed to depart.  Amazingly, they were able to book my flights without any trouble.

"There's no hurry," the travel agent had said. "There are still plenty of seats available on those flights."

Actually, that turned out to be the problem.  There were too many seats left on that flight, most of them due to last-minute cancellations.

Switching to Japanese (but not relaxing much), the airport worker said, "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid your flight has been cancelled.  Please go to the check-in window over there and see what can be done."

I think I was still too high on the fact that I was flying Stateside for it really to sink in.  It didn't really hit me until I got to the counter, and a very distraught-looking, young Delta Airlines clerk was once again saying to me (in very fluent English) that my direct flight to Portland was canceled.  Canceled!  CANCELED!?!?!  "And that flight is only once a day," she was saying through my fog, "so we can't get it until tomorrow.  You can't wait, can you?"  I think I replied with a monosyllabic grunt.

So the clerk set to work.  And I mean...she REALLY set to work.  She was running all around the Delta Airlines check-in area like she was on the verge of spontaneous human combustion, talking to other clerks, picking up phones, apologizing to me and barely keeping her composure when her computer crashed, going around and trying other clerks' computers, and looking on the verge of tears as the list of bad news kept growing:  "All flights to Seattle are overbooked.  San Francisco, too.  Los Angeles is out.  Houston is out.  Chicago is out.  If you could just...wait...till...tomorrow..."

"I don't care if you fly me around the world the other direction for twenty hours," I said as gently as possible with a smile on.  "Please, just get me there as soon as you can."

Finally the clerk's computer came back to life, and her face brightened a bit.  Then, after she'd clicked around, it brightened even more.  "There's one option here," she said, "but it doesn't leave until later this evening.  We can get you into Portland Thursday evening instead of Thursday morning...about ten hours later than the direct flight..."  She looked up at me.  "...if we fly you through Honolulu."

I smiled wide.  "That sounds good.  I'll take it!"

So I got my revised itinerary, boarding pass, and a barrage of apologies (while I did my best to reassure the poor woman all was well, and I still had faith in Delta Airlines' service, because she really did look at the end of her rope), and headed out of the check-in area.  The first item on the agenda was calling Stateside to let my parents know I'd be arriving a little late, so I found a good corner over in the airport mall and got out my smartphone.  As it turned out, as I'd feared, my parents had already left; when I fly home, my parents usually stay a night at a motel near the airport so they can pick me up in the morning without having to worry about getting up extra early.  Luckily, my sister was home, so I gave her the update and was assured she'd try to find a way to let them know.

That left me with about four hours to kill at New Tokyo International Airport.  I debated heading out for a bit to do some shopping in Narita (a favorite haunt of mine), but I was worried I might wind up with extra baggage (such as a pedal or a mandolin), so I just bought a few magazines, went to the Tully's coffee shop overlooking the departure lobby, and relaxed with a grande-size cappuccino and National Geographic.  I was feeling pretty relaxed by the time I boarded the very new-looking Airbus and headed into the hazy sky en route to Honolulu.  I slept for almost the entire seven-hour flight...but that rough, hard-braking landing definitely woke me up!

Part Two - Hawaiian Layover

I couldn't help but notice the extreme irony of my unexpected Honolulu detour; the last time I had been in that airport had been almost exactly thirty years before.  At that time, I'd been there on a tour with my college jazz band, and for me the trip had been a complete disaster.  This time I was just confined to the airport for a few hours, but it didn't seem like it had changed...at least as far as I could remember.  (I've tried very hard to remember as little of that trip from hell as possible.)  I began to remember why I haven't felt any desire to visit Hawaii whatsoever since the mid '80s.  Still...it is definitely a very beautiful place with a vibe all its own.

Since I was originally supposed to have been arriving in the morning in Portland (i.e. probably a little chilly), I was wearing a lightweight coat, button-up shirt, and jeans.  Naturally, all the tropical travelers around me were in shorts, short sleeves, and sandals, and I drew stares.  Ignoring them, I wandered like a lost soul in purgatory along the meandering (and poorly marked) route from the shuttle bus stop to the departure lobby.  My connecting flight was with Alaska Airlines, but I arrived to find no one at the check-in counter and no sign of my gate number anywhere...including on my revised itinerary.  After more wandering (and more stares...especially from very suspicious security guards) I found the Alaska Airlines baggage check-in and asked them for help.  I had only my one carry-on bag, but they were still able to check me in and give me my gate number.  However, I was informed that I'd been put on a stand-by list.  I'd have to get my seat number from the counter at the gate...IF one was available.

Trapped in Honolulu Airport exactly thirty years after my last, punishing visit?  That would be ironic!

I made my way through the eerily-deserted airport mall and got to my gate a little over two hours before departure.  There were only a few people waiting there and no one at the counter.  Figuring there was nothing to be gained from sitting and stewing there, I went back to the mall and grabbed a quick Reese's Peanut Butter Cup (a rare luxury in Japan) and some breath mints. Then I spotted a Starbucks and went in.

There were only two customers there including myself, but the Hawaiian staff were cheerfully bantering among themselves in their native tongue.  That's not to say they weren't eager to chat in English; the woman at the register not only started talking with me as if I were an old friend, but started making fun of the other customer.  (Apparently he'd demanded more milk in his coffee, half and half if possible, and they thought that was really silly.)  Taking myself and my iced caramel macchiato to a table near the window, I took in the spectacular view.  An impressively ominous bank of clouds was oozing over and down the mountains like a head on an overflowing beer glass.  Below that, I could see part of Honolulu, and I recalled how beautiful it had been back in the '80s.  I remembered the fabled beach resort of Waikiki...that ghastly clot of overcrowded, overpriced, superficial, pretty, plastic dementia that my bandmates had made the sole reason for their existence for the few days we'd been on that tragically soul-stripped island.  That visit, cursed from the beginning, had laid bare a lot of facts about myself...and about the folly of an introvert trying to be part of the crowd...especially the wrong crowd...especially at the urging of people trying to "fix" me...but I digress.  I think I whispered, "Still...it's so beautiful," to myself as I gathered myself up to leave.

The stainless steel chute where you dump your ice in most Starbucks (at least in Japan) was full of paper garbage.  I asked one of the employees where I could dump my ice, and she looked at me like I was the biggest idiot in the world before saying, "You can...just dump de whole ting in de garbage, man!"  So I did.  I said thank you, but I just got a quizzical stare in return.  I was almost first in line at the check-in counter at the gate, so getting a seat on the plane was no problem.  Soon that little 737, filled to capacity, was airborne and on its way to Oregon.

Alaska Airlines is a budget airline, so food and booze cost extra.  I splurged a bit on Washington wine and various munchies from both Oregon and Washington.  I was a very happy camper.

Yep, Honolulu.  Short, but better than last time.  Still...it's so beautiful.

Part Three - Finally Home

The nice thing about arriving in Portland via a domestic flight with no checked luggage was that I was able to walk out of the plane, through the gate, and right into the lobby where my folks were waiting.  My sister had alerted them to the change of plans, so they'd spent the day running around in Portland before picking me up.  They were perfectly happy, and so was I.  I also felt quite relaxed and rested.

At least I was until they warned me that it was getting dark, and they weren't good at driving in the dark.  Especially since they had a new car.  I won't go into detail about the drive to the coast (for various reasons) but suffice to say it was more of an adventure than it probably needed to be.  We arrived at my parents' house somewhere around 10 p.m..  I hadn't had any dinner, but I contented myself with getting acquainted with their new cats before hitting the sack.  I was pretty much exhausted.

The next day was Friday, the only free day I had to play with during the entire trip.  Unfortunately, the weather remembered it was the Oregon Coast (i.e. rain), so my hoped-for hike or beach visit was out.  Instead, I just chilled out through the morning, and in the afternoon I went shopping with my mother and sister before giving in and taking my father up on an interesting invitation.

When I visited there during winter vacation last year, my father invited me to sit in with a local acoustic circle.  Once a week, at a community center in town, people get together for an open acoustic jam session.  Anyone with an instrument or singing voice is welcome.  My father has been a regular participant.  I declined last year, partly because I wasn't sure I'd be up to it, and partly because...well...group.  (Introvert.)  This time I gave it a shot.  There were four guys with acoustic guitars there including my dad, one old guy who occasionally plonked around on a piano, and one woman singing.  I came in with my dad's other guitar (Guild!) and a tinwhistle, and took right to it.  It was a blast!  Each person took a turn choosing the song, and the others would just follow as best they could.  I did a couple of well-known folk songs, a Beatles tune, a Neil Young number, and something I chose at random from my dad's fake book.  It was serious fun.  However, I couldn't help noticing that I was having trouble remembering the lyrics of songs I tend to perform on a regular basis.

In fact, I noticed that my memory of things in general from my life in Japan was oddly sluggish, as if that whole volume had been temporarily compressed and archived.  I supposed there had to be a reason for it, so I just got on with it.

Part Four - The Reason for the Journey

My Aunt Judy was not a gentle person.  Neither was she easy-going.  She could be very difficult.  However, if you could say one thing about her, it was that she was always very passionate.  She did everything with an eagerness not often seen in people.  Like most in that side of my family, she was also quite musical.

In fact, I will even go so far as to say that her talent on the piano, especially playing the genres of gospel, ragtime, and dixieland, had a huge influence on my own musicality.  When I play jazz, I often hear the memory of her playing inside my head.  That's something that will always be very important to me.

And of course, she is family.  You can't put a price tag on that.

During all the time I was growing up, Aunt Judy and her family lived in the rural area in the vicinity of Turner, Oregon.  It was a totally different world from the suburbs where I did most of my growing up, and I always looked forward to visiting there.  Together with my two cousins who lived there, I experienced a lot of things I wouldn't have otherwise, including such things as riding a motorcycle on the country roads, driving a small tractor, milking a goat, and operating an old player piano (i.e. the type that play automatically using tunes encoded on rolls of paper).  When my cousins eventually grew up and left the nest, and one of them had kids of her own, my aunt and uncle moved to the city of Salem to be closer to their grandkids.  That was after I'd relocated to Japan, so my contact during that time was limited.  However, the old memories of the days they lived near Turner are still very much a part of what I am, so it was only fitting that I be there to say goodbye.

And how fitting that the memorial service was at the newly rebuilt version of their old church in Turner!

I've long since become accustomed to Japanese funerals, and American ones are completely different.  I remember how weird it all felt during my grandmother's memorial service a decade ago.  This was more or less the same thing.  It was all so laid back.  Japanese funerals are flamboyant but grim affairs with lots of ritual and expense.  This memorial service, like my grandmother's, involved such things as casual comments and even jokes from the minister, invitations for people to share their memories, singing hymns in a very laid-back manner, and an atmosphere that was more one of love, sentiment, fellowship, and even joy rather than the somber obligation and usherings into the afterlife that are common in Japan.  It was a celebration of life rather than an observance of death.  It was...very nice.  It was also great seeing so many of my relatives from that side of my family.  My mother's side was always a very close-knit group...something I always loved about them...and it was great to see that they still are, even though we've all but lost the generation that tied it all together.

Nobody expected me to be there.  I hadn't expected me to be there.  But I was very happy and thankful to be there...even if I made someone cry.  (Sorry, Nancy!)  ;-)

On the way back to the coast, we decided to have something a little special for dinner, so we made a little detour and another supermarket stop.  Later, while the cooking was in process, my other aunt and uncle from that side of the family stopped by with a couple of new fake books for my dad...and an insistence that we should play.  I gave in, got out the Guild guitar and tinwhistle again, and joined my dad for perhaps the first joint jam session we've EVER had at home.  I didn't know half the songs we played, but did I let that stop me?  :-)

By the way, Rogue mocha porter is awesome.  So is Deschutes River Brewery's River Ale.  So are my parents' new cats (but not for drinking).

Part Five - Back Again So Soon

That was the end of the trip.  The next morning, we were making the journey back to Portland International Airport.  Fortunately, the direct flight home and my flight reservation were both okay.  Check-in, never fun, was made even more annoying by a demand that I show proof of my Japanese visa.  (The clerk kept insisting that my permanent residence visa had expired, offering the approval date as "proof".  I asked her why "permanent" residency would have an expiration date.  She said, "Good point," and sent me on my way.)  After a final, relaxing lunch with my parents and a very brief visit to the Made in Oregon shop for obligatory souvenirs, I got in line at the security gate...and encountered a guard whose obnoxious sense of humor made my wait even more needlessly long.  When I finally arrived at my flight's gate, boarding was already in progress, so I simply walked onto the plane.

The 767-300 was half empty.  I had a row of seats to myself, so I stretched out, snoozed when I could, and meditated when I couldn't.  It was smooth flying until we started our descent into Japan, when we hit a weather front, and the plane started bucking like a bull on steroids.  From there we kept rocking and rolling in entirely the wrong way clear up until touchdown on the runway...which was ironically smooth and easy.  That description also applies to my trip through immigration and customs, when an ignorant, young employee insisted I wait in the wrong line, but when I asked a more experienced one who passed by, I got put in the correct line...which was NO line.  From there, I just walked through, pausing briefly to submit forms along the way.

My parking bill was more than a hundred bucks at the current exchange rate.  I think I parked in the wrong lot...  Anyway, guess where I went after leaving the airport.  That's right!  YE OLDE ACADEMY!!!!!!  I had to finish making a midterm exam, since I'd forgotten to work on it while in Oregon.  A teacher's work is never done...

THE END!!!

Days Like These...

Saturday, February 15th, was the date of this year's Japan Amateur Chambermusic Festival (ACF) in Yokohama.  The ACF is a fairly prestigious annual event which features about a dozen ensembles selected from many hundreds of applicants from all over the country.  All of the performances are more or less of the classical genre, and there are no stipulations as to age or background.  As it happened, the 11th grade string players at Ye Olde Academy auditioned and were selected to be one of the performing groups.  They were to be the only high schoolers on the program; all the others were either college students or older.  It was really quite an honor.

The fact that my own daughter was included made it even better.

Anyway, there were only 7 members in the 11th grade string ensemble, but the music club chartered a full-sized bus so that there would be plenty of room for supporters.  Since I was both a co-director and a parent, room was made for both me and my wife.  The bus was scheduled to leave Ye Olde Academy at noon that day, after my lessons were done, and we would be arriving at the Minatomirai Hall several hours before the performance.  That meant we'd have lots of extra time to play with in Yokohama...meaning it would be a welcome date with the wife free of the usual expressway and parking fees.  It looked to be a nice, easy, and enjoyable day.

Except that it wasn't.

You see, that nasty storm that dumped so much gale-driven rain mixed with snow on us from Friday evening until Saturday morning wound up leaving a full foot of snow on the normally snowless Tokyo Metropolitan Area.  That sent everything into a chain reaction of fail.

First it was announced that, because of the snow, the chartered bus would be leaving the Academy two hours early.  Unfortunately, that conflicted with a special demo lesson I was scheduled to teach for the kids who had passed our senior high entrance exam.  The administration made it clear that that lesson had priority, so I was forced to stay behind.

Not one to give up easily, I met up with my wife as soon as that lesson was finished, and I drove us to Yokohama myself.  I'd made the trip there plenty of times in the past, so it shouldn't have been a problem.  The temperature was in the teens centigrade (40-50 Fahrenheit), but there was still lots of snow on the ground in the Tokyo-Yokohama area.  Luckily, the expressway had been well plowed, so it was mainly just wet.  However, as we raced along those narrow elevated expressways between Tokyo and Yokohama, the snow bank on the side of the road was close enough to reach out and scoop...with big trucks in the other lane.  It was pretty scary.  When we got off the expressway in the Minatomirai area of Yokohama, there was plenty of snow on the streets, but traffic had long since carved ruts on the busier routes.  Nevertheless, the space in between the ruts was still deep enough for my car's airdam to scrape it.  The less-trafficked roads had some packed slush, but I just practiced my snow driving, made good use of my manual shift paddles, and got us into the underground parking garage without any trouble.

The last time my wife and I had visited Yokohama had been several years before, and it was great to be back.  The shopping malls in the Minatomirai area had plenty to keep us occupied, and my daughter had told us that their performance was scheduled to begin around 5 p.m..  That gave us a lot of time to spare, so we just took it easy and enjoyed ourselves.  We decided to go to the hall an hour before the performance to get our tickets and get settled in.  Thus, we arrived in the lobby just outside the hall with tickets and programs in hand just a few minutes after 4 p.m., looked at the monitor screen there...and saw our group already performing!  My daughter had given us the wrong time!  Shocked, we watched the rest of the performance on the monitor screen and then entered the hall as soon as the doors opened.

We stayed to watch a few more groups perform (mainly to justify our having made the trip there and paid for the tickets, but they really were quite good).  Then we left to make the journey home...which turned out to be a lot more difficult.  It was now after dark, not to mention rush hour, and I followed my navi-system to the expressway entrance, turned into it...and stopped dead in front of a barricade reading "Closed due to snow".  Naturally, that lane had been devoid of traffic, so I found myself trapped in the deep, partly-refrozen snow...but only briefly.  Punching out of there, I wandered about (making a couple of illegal abrupt lane changes) until I found an open on-ramp.  Unfortunately, it put me on a different expressway, so I wound up looping around on a rather roundabout route with a lot more traffic than before...and rapidly-melting snow forming all kinds of waterfalls and mini-avalanches along the way.  By the time we finally reached the welcome, wide expressway in Tokyo, our hearts were in our mouths.

Right about the time we got home, my daughter sent us a message saying her bus was on its way.  I nodded off before they arrived at Ye Olde Academy, though, and my wife was merciful enough to let me sleep.  In fact, I got more sleep that night than I had in a long time...which I suppose counts as one more blessing to weigh against all the karmic fail of the day.

Don't Believe Everything you Click.

(Scene:  one of the workrooms at Ye Olde Academy.  I walk in the door near where one of my co-workers is busy at the computer on his desk.)
My Co-Worker:  "Excuse me!  Can you help me with this thing?"
Me:  (Thinking, "Again?!!?")  "Sure!  What is it?"
CW:  "It's this software I bought."  (Shows me a sales voucher)  "I just installed it, but I can't get it to work right."
Me:  (Leaning in for a closer look)  "Ah.  Registry editor and system optimizer.  I've used those.  What's the problem?"
CW:  "Well, I don't know.  Like I said, I installed it, but now it just flashes error messages at me and doesn't do anything."
Me:  "Let me have a look."  (He stands and I sit)  "Well, part of the problem is that you have other programs trying to do stuff.  The registry editor is saying to close all open applications.  There's other stuff running.  What's this 'cloud back-up service'?"
CW:  "Yeah...I need to set that up, too."
Me:  "It's asking you to create an account.  You need to do that for it to work."
CW:  "Okay, here..."  (Leans over and puts in the required information)
Me:  "Okay, that took care of that.  Now it's....what the...?  It's just a trial version!  Only 40 files unless you pay?  That's just..."
CW:  "Oh, well.  I don't really need it, anyway."
Me:  "What...?"
CW:  "I don't even know where it came from.  All these other programs, too."  (Points at various icons)  "They just appeared after I installed the one I bought."
Me:  "Bundled, eh?  You probably don't need them.  I'll just shut them all for now.  Still not working!  But the only open apps are Spybot and your virus scanner, and I won't...well, I'll close Spybot for now.  Okay, I guess that did it, but...ah!  You need to register the program you bought.  There's probably a key..."  (Looks around)  "Right, there it is.  But they still want you to register.  You need to put your info here."
CW:  "Okay..."  (Puts in the required information)  "Did that do it?"
Me:  "There it goes!  Now it's cleaning up your registry!  But what's with all these ads trying to get you to download or buy stuff?  None of the system editors I've used had all this crap!"
CW:  "I don't know.  I really have no idea about any of this."
Me:  (After a little while) "Okay, it's done.  It's going to do a system reboot now.  Okay, so far so good but...what the...?  This program is really kind of obnoxious, isn't it...and these others...what in the world?  They're ALL limited trial versions that give you just enough to make you want to buy the full version!  What is this?"
CW:  "No idea.  Like I said, they just appeared."
Me:  (Looking around)  "I don't like it.  This really stinks.  Hey, I know I installed Malwarebytes and Spybot on your computer last spring, and Spybot is running!  But where are the icons?"
CW:  "What?"
Me:  "Never mind."  (Finds the executable file for Malwarebytes, starts it, and initiates a scan.  Meanwhile, does a Google search.)  "Hmm.  Okay, there's the program you bought.  The forums and reviewers are saying it is a legitimate program from a legitimate company, but..."  (But the program is second rate and the company's reputation is spotty to say the least.  Meanwhile, every time a new web page is accessed, Spybot blocks an unidentified "suspicious cookie")  "It's probably best not to click on anything it puts up that says 'download' or 'buy'.  The manufacturer is into hard sales."
CW:  "Really?"
Me:  "Okay, here's...wow!  243 malware files!"  (Including ALL the recently installed applications, even the one he bought.)  (Tells Malwarebytes to remove everything except the purchased software, lets it reboot the system, and has Spybot do a follow-up scan.  Spybot finds some hidden garbage from those evil apps that either Malwarebytes missed or something replaced.  Once again, tells Spybot to remove everything except the purchased program)  "Okay, that should be alright, but again, don't 'download' or 'purchase' anything from that system editor!"
CW:  (A little crestfallen)  "Got it."
Me:  "By the way, I'm curious.  Where did you buy this program?"
CW:  "I got it direct from the computer."
Me:  "You mean online?"
CW:  "I guess so.  Yes."
Me:  "What do you mean?  What led you to get it?"
CW:  "Well, I was just doing some work here, and suddenly this window appears telling me that my computer isn't running right and telling me to do a scan.  I did the scan, and it told me the system was messed up and I had to buy the program to fix it.  So I did.  I mean, it said Microsoft on it.  You mean it wasn't part of Windows?"
Me:  "Uh, no...it wasn't."

Oh, well.  I guess there's one born every minute.  Unfortunately.

For the Love of Violence

Teen thug dramas are definitely a phenomenon here in the Land of the Rising Sun.  They have been around for at least a few decades, and they are still extremely popular here.  Most if not all of them started out as manga series and then moved to the TV and/or big screen.  Amazingly, they seem to have appeal throughout the Japanese social spectrum; even people who you'd think would be the last to enjoy extreme violence and gore (such as my wife) just thrive on these things.

Though the names and settings vary, the basic premise of teen thug dramas tends to be more or less the same:

1. The focus is on teens (usually boys, but sometimes girls) with really bad attitudes and some serious issues.
2. The thugs usually have really obnoxious hairstyles but otherwise wear their school uniforms as if it were their gang symbol...and quite often the war for dominance centers on their school (or between rival schools).
3. The whole point is to see who can be the "big men/women" by beating the shyte out of everyone else.
4. Most of the time there really are no "good guys"; pretty much everyone is a hopeless lowlife, though the protagonists usually aren't quite as evil as the opposition.
5. Pretty much everything is decided through violence...sometimes quite extreme violence involving deadly weapons.
6. Violent confrontations of some kind happen in just about every scene.
7. It's not uncommon for characters to get horribly beaten - or even stabbed - to the point that gore flies all over the place and/or they're left looking disfigured, but yet they're usually right back in the action again after a short hospital stay.  It's only rarely that a character dies, and even then it's usually only when that character's death is an important part of the story, i.e. it gives cause for revenge.
8. Authority of any kind is rare if not absent.  You have the ubiquitous police sirens that bring a particular battle to a halt and send everyone scattering (except those unconscious on the ground), but you almost never see actual policemen.  Even if a punk winds up in the hospital after being beaten half to death with baseball bats, there's never any investigation.  And when things happen on a school campus, you almost never see teachers, and there's almost never any action taken even if thugs rampage through the school smashing things.  In fact, when you do see teachers, they usually just to try to cover everything up and pretend it never happened.  At any rate, no one ever gets caught or punished...except by other gangs.
9. There never seem to be any parents, either.  Even if a punk winds up in the hospital nearly dead, the only people who show up to visit are his/her friends or girlfriend.
10. It's also not uncommon for thugs to ambush one character and either beat him unconscious or kill him in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses who completely ignore the whole thing.  The sight of a character weeping next to a comatose if not dying friend or lover while the city crowds walk obliviously by is all too common in these dramas.

I'm generally against censorship, but I have to wonder whether these things are really a good idea.  Considering their popularity, considering how impressionable young people tend to be, and considering the tendency of Japanese teens to mimic their idols (real or fiction), how can the companies that produce them not think that kids might wind up emulating them?  And how can they not be required to take responsibility for it?

One of the earliest teen thug dramas I know of is "Be-Bop High School", which started as a manga in the 1980's and later became an animated TV show followed by a live-action miniseries and at least one movie.  When I first started teaching in Japan, I saw lots of boys who seemed to be trying to emulate the James Dean-esque style, the bad attitude, and the violent tendencies of the lead characters.  But that was nothing.  "Be-Bop High School" is actually tame by today's standards, and the apparent effect of the more graphic modern dramas is far worse.

During the last decade, there have been several incidents around the country where a teen gang lured or forced someone into a secluded area and proceeded to beat them to death with baseball bats or other blunt objects.  In almost every case, arrests were made.  Tellingly, the perpetrators in every case were said to be shocked, not only that they were actually caught and punished for their deeds, but that their victim died.  Apparently they thought that their target would be up and about again after a few days in the hospital, just like in their favorite teen thug dramas.  I'm sure the authors and publishers of the latter would say something like, "Dramas don't kill people, people kill people," but is it responsible even to allow it to happen?

One notable exception is "Rookies", a recent and staggeringly popular teen thug drama which has also been made into a live-action TV soap opera and movie.  Unlike most thug dramas, "Rookies" focuses on the reform of a gang of hopeless lowlifes by a teacher's determined efforts to shape them into a school baseball team.  Although there is still plenty of intense and very graphic violence, the whole point is that the "good guy" punks are given a better goal to work toward and, in the process, come to learn to believe in themselves...and to trust each other.  It's a very positive message, especially when we come to learn that the steadfast teacher is actually a reformed gangster himself...with plenty of fighting savvy despite his eternally positive demeanor.  Even so, even "Rookies" has a scene where, while a rival gang rampages through the school smashing windows, doors, and passers-by with baseball bats as they chase the protagonists down with openly murderous intent, a teacher who tries to call the police is told to stop by his colleagues...lest he humiliate the other students !  Even a teen thug drama with such a very good theme still winds up sending another very bad message:  that bad guys will always get away with it.

Is that really a lesson we want kids to learn?

Exploring the Other End of the Scale

(Good lord, he's talking about pedals again...)

I've mentioned this before, but my pedal passion in recent years has been following two separate courses.  While I've mainly been interested in handmade boutique pedals (especially ones that are more reasonably priced), I've also enjoyed looking at brands that are cheap but good.  I intended to halt my pedal purchasing after last year's massive haul, but once again my curiosity has been piqued, this time by a couple of inexpensive, new Chinese brands.

For some time now, German budget gear-maker Behringer has had quite a bit of popularity thanks to its line of ultra-cheap guitar pedals that are clones of well-known Boss, MXR, EHX, and Line 6 models.  More or less the same electronics are built into toy-like, all-plastic enclosures with very crude controls.  One look will tell you that they're not made to last, or to take much punishment, but they sound pretty much as good as the real thing.  I've bought a few Behringer pedals to try them out, and they don't sound anywhere as cheap as they look.  In fact, the RV600 Reverb Machine, modeled after a famous Line 6 pedal, has become one of my most used boxes!  Despite all the inevitable controversy (and snobbery), Behringer pedals have still proved to be popular among guitarists on a budget.  Now, however, they've been given a new challenge.

JOYO appeared a little over a year ago.  Their pedals are low-cost knock-offs of famous boutique boxes.  You can tell what they are modeled after just by looking at them; even their appearance is an emulation, though much simpler than the originals.  The sound, however, can be very close; indeed, certain models are virtually indistinguishable from their much more expensive counterparts in blind comparisons.  There are obvious differences in build quality, and at least one maker of a famous boutique pedal cloned by JOYO has gone on record saying it is a "close approximation" rather than an actual copy.  That hasn't prevented some American online shops from banning JOYO pedals for perceived copyright violations even though no charges are known to have been brought.  As for me, I don't own any JOYO pedals (yet), but I'm seriously thinking of getting one or more to try out just for the heck of it.  (And why not?  The price is very low!)

Mooer Audio is even more recent.  Their nifty line of ultra-compact pedals started appearing around last summer and has quickly expanded.  Now there are at least a couple of dozen models in their catalog.  Again, each one is modeled after either a famous boutique pedal, a classic vintage pedal, or an off-the-shelf model with a famous modification.  However, though the colors and graphics on the Mooer pedals echo the models they emulate, the enclosures are uniquely different; indeed, they have come up with their own, clever, little enclosure design with a really cool, miniaturized control layout.  That is really a selling point of the Mooers!  They are not quite as cheap as Behringer or JOYO, but they combine the emulation of famous pedals with a very convenient and useful design.  The build quality seems reasonably good, too.  If I have any complaint about the Mooer pedals, it is that their digital models have a huge current draw that is too much for most powered pedalboards or power distributors.  And since they are too small to use batteries, you pretty much have to plug each into its own AC adapter.  Overall, I think the Mooer line is really cool, so I grabbed a few of their analog models (which go into a powered board just fine).  I have the Black Secret (which emulates the RAT and TurboRAT distortion pedals), the Hustle Drive (apparently modeled on the famous Fulltone OCD overdrive/distortion), the Cruncher (modeled on the MI Audio Crunch Box distortion pedal) and the Orange Ninety (built on the MXR Phase 90 phaser, both modern and vintage).  They are REALLY cool, and blast to play with!  As inexpensive as they are, I'm liable to get a few more before I'm done.

Yes, I've heard the arguments about these cheap knock-offs stealing business (if not intellectual property) from the original brands.  I don't really agree.  For one thing, as I quoted above from one famous pedalmaker who got "JOYOed", these pedals are more approximations than copies.  There are definitely reasons to buy the original models.  And on that note, would I even buy the original models?  Considering I'm not a performing guitarist (though I am a recording one), would there be any reason for me to shell out a couple of hundred bucks for an OCD or a Crunch Box?  Actually, if I come to like these Mooer clones enough, I just might!  ;-)

Delivery Doldrums

This morning, just as I was getting ready to hurry off to work, the phone rang.  The middle-aged-sounding lady on the phone identified herself as being with a parcel delivery outfit, but it was one I'd never heard of.  She said she had a package for me from Soundhouse.  That didn't surprise me, as I'd ordered something from them.  In fact, I'd asked for it to be delivered the day before (i.e. the 16th, yesterday), and it hadn't arrived.  I was going to ask about that, but then the conversation took an unexpected turn:
Her:  What should we do?
Me:  (puzzled) What should you do?
Her:  Can you come here and get it?
Me:  Um, no...I can't!  I'm working today!  I'll be out all day!  Can you please deliver it?  (After all, isn't that what a DELIVERY company is supposed to do?)
Her:  But no one will be there.
Me:  Yes, there will.  My father-in-law should be there.
Her:  We tried to deliver it yesterday, but no one was there.
Me:  Really?  What time?
Her:  Sometime around noon or so.
Me:   I was there.  In fact, I was waiting for that package.
Her:  We pushed the doorbell again and again, but no one was there.
Me:  At which house?
Her:  What?
Me:  There are two houses on the property, mine and my father-in-law's.  (Every OTHER package delivery I'd had till then had had no problem finding its way to my door...)
Her:  We just went to the one on the road, the one that says (FIL's surname).
Me:  That's my father-in-law's house.
Her:  What, you have two houses?
Me:   (Gritting my teeth and looking at the clock)  My father in law lives in one house, and I live in the other.
Her:  So what should we do?
Me:  Please deliver it.
Her:  But if you're working, you won't be in your home!
Me:  My father-in-law should be there!
Her:  Oh, really?
Me:  Yes!  As far as I know, he should be there!
Her:  So should we take it to his house?
Me:  (No, take it to a random neighbor's house and tell them it's a gift from Kim Jong Un!)  Yes, please!
Her:  But what if he's not there?  Should I return the package?
Me:  If he's not there, please contact me again, and we'll work something out.
Her:  Okay.  We'll try delivering it today, and if no one's there, we'll call you again.
Me:  Thank you!

Luckily, I somehow managed to get to work in time without getting a speeding ticket.  Also, the package was delivered to my father-in-law and (after a bit of confusion) passed to me.  All's well that ends well, I guess.  Even so, next time I want to buy something from Soundhouse, I think I'll just make the trip and pick it up at the showroom.

Changing of the Gears

It has finally happened.  The service of my BLUE RAV4 has finally come to an end, and with it another chapter in my life.  When I bought that reliable machine largely on impulse on the eve of summer in 2000, I never expected it would be a faithful companion for almost 13 years.  Indeed, it was the first car I ever owned that I kept longer than a few years, and it was the first that I bought new.  (I might add that it was only the second car out of the four I'd owned that I wasn't forced to get rid of after it died a horrible death.)  It was also the first that wasn't a tiny, 3-cylinder "kei" car.  The BLUE RAV4 wasn't just a tool to be used; in many ways, it became part of my personality, a veritable knight's steed.  I had it for a full decade before it needed any kind of major repair, and if it weren't for the fact that it was starting to nickel and dime me to death with various, small problems, I might have kept it for another decade or more.

I'm surprised that I don't feel more regret at its passing.  In fact, when I left it at the car shop and drove home in my new Blue Wish, I didn't feel anything at all.  The BLUE RAV4 just vanished from my life and from my thoughts.  I suppose I was just excited at the prospect of having a new machine after so many years, but it was almost disturbing to me how utterly dispassionate I was about the whole thing.  Now that I've had the Blue Wish for a week, however, I'm going through the inevitable comparisons.  This is how they shape up:

The BLUE RAV4

Advantages:

1. Since it was an SUV with big, sturdy wheels, I didn't have to worry about where I drove it.  I could take it on those torn-up, little country roads, or even on places where there really wasn't a road to speak of, without a second thought.  On the other hand, the Blue Wish has a lower ground clearance and airdams, which means I have to be more careful.
2. It had lots of little pouches and compartments all over inside, which meant I could keep a supply of handy survival gear without it getting in the way.
3. It had two additional 12v electric sockets besides the one for the cigarette lighter.  That was convenient for using the carvac.  It also helped when I had two teens with cell phones that always seemed to need recharging.
4. Its turn radius was the tightest of any compact SUV on the market, which still probably wasn't saying much.  Even so, its steering was very responsive, meaning it could be quite maneuverable.  The RAV4 was reported to be too top heavy and to have a high risk of rolling, but I still managed to do a sort of bootlegger reverse in it once (an extremely stupid stunt I fortunately never tried again).  I also managed to bend the hell out of the steering mechanism, which was the second major repair it needed.
5. Because it was heavy and well armored, it earned me an insurance discount.
6. Its metallic blue paint was MY COLOR!!!!!!!!!!

Disadvantages:

1. Its gas mileage wasn't quite as bad as that of a full-sized truck or SUV, but...
2. Those big tires were awfully expensive.
3. It was kind of noisy inside.
4. Visibility could be rather limited, especially to the rear.  Backing up was always a problem.
5. The extra mirror in the front was handy for seeing how close I was to the edge of a road or a rail, etc., but it was often a nuisance when I had to try to give my car a quick wash at a gas station.  A lot of automated car wash machines do NOT like those extra mirrors.
6. The brakes had some kind of flaw that would sometimes make them go "k-k-k-k-" when engaged.  When that happened, the brake response became a little sluggish.  It came and went, and mechanics could never figure out what was causing it, so it never got fixed.
7. It was really heavy, which could be a serious problem if I had to climb a hill that had lots of rainwater or a bit of snow on it.  The fact that I hadn't gotten the 4wd version made it worse.

The Blue Wish

Advantages:

1. It's a newer model with more advanced equipment.  The engine in particular is more efficient, more powerful, and cleaner.
2. As a sport model, it's built for speed.  It has a "sport mode" that increases the engine power and changes the gear ratio to optimize acceleration.  It also has a funky "manual mode" for its automatic transmission; I can shift gears manually (though with an autoclutch) using F1-style flippers on the steering wheel.  That can give me even better acceleration...or allow me to shift down quickly in response to the environment.
3. On the other hand, when the engine is in "eco mode", which reduces the engine power and adjusts the automatic transmission for efficiency, the gas mileage becomes even better.
4. The steering doesn't allow the same "cut and thrust" maneuvering I could get with the RAV4, but it has an active stabilizing system which gives smoother handling.  The body and bumpers also have an aerodynamic design which uses airflow to help improve control, especially at speed.  It also has a nice, low center of gravity.  I can corner much quicker with this machine.
5. The GPS navigation/multimedia and ETC (electronic toll collection) systems are built in rather than added on, so the whole dashboard has a much neater look and arrangement.  (Plus, the navigation monitor doesn't block the air conditioning vents like it did on my RAV4.)
6. The GPS navigation system can interface with my smartphone via Bluetooth.  That means I can program the destination directly from an internet search.  (It has an option for direct wireless internet using Toyota's G-Book service, but that would cost extra.)  It also allows hands-free phone use while I'm driving.
7. LOVE that back guide monitor!!!!!
8. I have a feeling I'm going to love the pollen shield in the ventilating system, too.
9. It has better all-around visibility.
10. The smart key system will take a bit of getting used to, but it is nice.
11. I have scads of cargo space plus a folding extra seat in the back, which are both very good to have when having to transport gear and students for the music club!

Disadvantages:

1. Although it's about the same width as the RAV4, it's at least a foot longer.  Maneuvering on those twisty, narrow country roads is more difficult.  So is parking.
2. The sharply-sloping nose and protruding airdam in the front can't be seen from the driver's seat.  That means that figuring out how much space there is between me and an object in front of me is not easy.  It is taking a bit to get myself into parking spaces properly.
3. The ground clearance is pretty low, especially because of the front and rear airdams.
4. The interior design is nice and roomy, but stowage space is a bit lacking, especially in the back (middle?) seat.  I've had to buy and mount a number of holders to maintain the level of equipment I'm used to.
5. The "blue" paint is what they call "metallic satin blue", and it's actually more of a pale purple.  It's NOT my color...though it looks pretty cool.  I just wish it were a bit less pale.  I'm not a pale sort.

Well, anyway...I've come into a new chapter, and it'll be exciting to figure it all out.