Tuesday, August 17, 2010
September 2003 - A Letter from the Neighbors
The story of the Suzuki's microscopic fixation with detail opened its second chapter yesterday when I received in the mail a letter from some company whose name I did not recognize, and inside was a letter from someone acting at the behest of the Suzukis (I was so disgusted and it was already late, that I have not even bothered to check before putting it aside). The letter said, essentially, "please sign and return the enclosed letter. The enclosed letter does not have any legal effect on your rights". The enclosed letter was a letter in a form addressed to the Suzukis, stating that I agree to remove the [plastic bamboo -- Ed.] fence that is on their side of the property line, and when constructing a new fence, to build it within my property. So my initial impression was correct. These people are mental!! I bet they go around spraying every corner of their house with disinfectant to kill the microbes that are a constant threat to their health and well being. Stress will probably get them in the end. Or perhaps they will eventually wear me down. So, as I said, I have put the letter aside. I wonder, though, if I should appease these people so that they don't raise any obstacles to the construction (at this point I have no idea what they might be able to do to bother me). Or perhaps I should keep this paper as something to trade in the event I need something from them.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
The Neighborhood Thug - A True Story of Building a House in Tokyo
In 2003 I thought I could save money if I took the cash that I was paying as rent and used it to pay down a mortgage instead. So I started looking for a place to buy. Eventually I found a 30 year old wooden house in a good location (i.e., near a major subway and train station in Tokyo, but yet in a quiet neighborhood and near a large public park). I initially thought to move into the old house and renovate it, but after touring the house a second time, I decided to have it demolished and rebuilt. In this process I learned quite a bit about Japanese society and also about myself. This is a serialized story of my experience in demolishing that old house and building a new one. The text is taken from e-mails sent to my sisters soon after events described therein had taken place. Names have been changed.
September 2003 - Meeting Three of my New Neighbors
Yesterday myself, my architect and the representative of a demolition company visited the people who live in the five homes immediately adjacent to our property, in other words, the neighbors. Only three of the five were at home, and, of those, only the matron of the house was available.
At the first place, which is a relatively new reinforced concrete two story structure with the Mercedes Benz in the driveway (which also serves as the front walk-- all these houses are tightly packed), after we the words "reconstruction" were out of our mouths, Ms. Suzuki said "I have something to say to you about that" and disappeared into the house again. We waited patiently. She reappeared about 45 seconds later, and I cannot fathom what had required her brief disappearance, because she had not changed her wardrobe or footwear. She walked out to the front with us and pointed out that the previous owner had built a fake plastic bamboo fence on her side of the property line. He had put up the fence because the Suzukis had a fence that was just unfinished concrete slabs on the side facing our property, and Mr. Yoshikawa, the man who sold to us, had decided he would prefer to look at fake plastic bamboo rather than real concrete blocks. Moreover, at the time Mr. Y put the fence up, the property line was unclear, and it was only later that Mr. Yoshikawa and Mr. Suzuki agreed to have the line re-surveyed, and discovered that Mr. Yoshikawa's "fence" was on the Suzuki property. The guy that is helping us with our architect was with us for the neighborhood visit and he and Mrs. Suzuki got into this five minute discussion which, as far as my ears were able to follow the conversation over my rapidly fading interest, consisted of her repeating several times that Mr. Yoshikawa, the previous owner, had promised that if there was ever new construction, he would take down his plastic fence so that the Suzukis could move their 10 meter concrete wall over an additional three to five centimeters; and our guy telling her that our plan was in fact to remove the plastic bamboo fence. Five minutes. That is about one minute per centimeter. Of course, in this country, where they measure land in 3 meter square units, five centimeters times 10 meters adds up to considerably more than anywhere else.
The second house we visited is directly across the public street (which, being only 4 meters wide, and paved in brick, is actually more like a wide sidewalk) from our place. There we were met by an elderly woman of considerable energy and girth, clothed in a housecoat, who volunteered certain information on how "Mr. Yoshikawa's wife" hated gardening and never made any effort to prune or weed the trees and bushes growing on the property, and always slept in late, and the only thing Mr. Yoshikawa did in the garden was to water the rambling overgrowth. This sounded like the previous owner was not well liked, but then she told us that the neighbors used to pitch in during the year to trim the shrubs and clean up the leaves and weed the garden for this slothful couple. So it was a very confusing picture of the state of love and hate between these former neighbors. She also warned us (and the representative of the construction company who we are employing to take the house down) at least three times against creating too much dust during the demolition work, and that her husband was an architect who knew the labor laws and who would "be watching".
After these two neighbor visits, I was feeling rather lukewarm about the neighborhood. The last household who was at home was the owner of a large white German shepherdish dog. As soon as we explained we were going to be taking the old house down she said, "We have a dog who we keep out on the rear balcony [the one facing the house that is going to be demolished], and he barks." I thought this was going to be the start of another complaint, but instead she continued, "He might bark during the work, but please don't mind his barking. He will quiet down shortly, so long as you don't look him in the eye."
After we tried the next house, and found no one home, the woman with the dog came running out of her house with her large white dog. We thought she was taking her for a walk, but she just brought her (the dog) out to introduce us. How thoughtful!
So those are the neighbors so far. Two more to go, probably see them next weekend.
September 2003 - Meeting Three of my New Neighbors
Yesterday myself, my architect and the representative of a demolition company visited the people who live in the five homes immediately adjacent to our property, in other words, the neighbors. Only three of the five were at home, and, of those, only the matron of the house was available.
At the first place, which is a relatively new reinforced concrete two story structure with the Mercedes Benz in the driveway (which also serves as the front walk-- all these houses are tightly packed), after we the words "reconstruction" were out of our mouths, Ms. Suzuki said "I have something to say to you about that" and disappeared into the house again. We waited patiently. She reappeared about 45 seconds later, and I cannot fathom what had required her brief disappearance, because she had not changed her wardrobe or footwear. She walked out to the front with us and pointed out that the previous owner had built a fake plastic bamboo fence on her side of the property line. He had put up the fence because the Suzukis had a fence that was just unfinished concrete slabs on the side facing our property, and Mr. Yoshikawa, the man who sold to us, had decided he would prefer to look at fake plastic bamboo rather than real concrete blocks. Moreover, at the time Mr. Y put the fence up, the property line was unclear, and it was only later that Mr. Yoshikawa and Mr. Suzuki agreed to have the line re-surveyed, and discovered that Mr. Yoshikawa's "fence" was on the Suzuki property. The guy that is helping us with our architect was with us for the neighborhood visit and he and Mrs. Suzuki got into this five minute discussion which, as far as my ears were able to follow the conversation over my rapidly fading interest, consisted of her repeating several times that Mr. Yoshikawa, the previous owner, had promised that if there was ever new construction, he would take down his plastic fence so that the Suzukis could move their 10 meter concrete wall over an additional three to five centimeters; and our guy telling her that our plan was in fact to remove the plastic bamboo fence. Five minutes. That is about one minute per centimeter. Of course, in this country, where they measure land in 3 meter square units, five centimeters times 10 meters adds up to considerably more than anywhere else.
The second house we visited is directly across the public street (which, being only 4 meters wide, and paved in brick, is actually more like a wide sidewalk) from our place. There we were met by an elderly woman of considerable energy and girth, clothed in a housecoat, who volunteered certain information on how "Mr. Yoshikawa's wife" hated gardening and never made any effort to prune or weed the trees and bushes growing on the property, and always slept in late, and the only thing Mr. Yoshikawa did in the garden was to water the rambling overgrowth. This sounded like the previous owner was not well liked, but then she told us that the neighbors used to pitch in during the year to trim the shrubs and clean up the leaves and weed the garden for this slothful couple. So it was a very confusing picture of the state of love and hate between these former neighbors. She also warned us (and the representative of the construction company who we are employing to take the house down) at least three times against creating too much dust during the demolition work, and that her husband was an architect who knew the labor laws and who would "be watching".
After these two neighbor visits, I was feeling rather lukewarm about the neighborhood. The last household who was at home was the owner of a large white German shepherdish dog. As soon as we explained we were going to be taking the old house down she said, "We have a dog who we keep out on the rear balcony [the one facing the house that is going to be demolished], and he barks." I thought this was going to be the start of another complaint, but instead she continued, "He might bark during the work, but please don't mind his barking. He will quiet down shortly, so long as you don't look him in the eye."
After we tried the next house, and found no one home, the woman with the dog came running out of her house with her large white dog. We thought she was taking her for a walk, but she just brought her (the dog) out to introduce us. How thoughtful!
So those are the neighbors so far. Two more to go, probably see them next weekend.
Friday, August 6, 2010
More Parenting Advice - that guy again
Some people think with their pituitary glands. Isn’t that disgusting? So, this is for them. Child harnesses. Get them, use them. Okay. That is all I am going to say about this. I have heard some people say that it’s demeaning, these harnesses. That parents who uses these harnesses are treating their children like dogs. Well, news flash: people don’t like it when dogs are running around loose at a store when they are trying to shop, or running around a restaurant barking for scraps when they are trying to have a romantic candle light dinner. People don’t like it when dogs are jumping up on them and scaring them. Knocking them down and slobbering all over them or taking a crap in the corner. It’s a nuisance to society. I would even go so far as to use the word “menace.” And this has got to stop. Someone has to say, “Stop.” So put your damn kids on a leash, already.
You see, children have to learn patience and how to control themselves in society. They should not be running around peeing in your neighbor’s garden or throwing rocks at his house or family. So put them on a leash and give them a yard of play to start. If they are good and don’t misbehave in public for say, a month, give them two yards. You will have to watch them constantly, but you will see improvement, believe me. Because there are not a lot of misbehaviours that a quick, sharp yank will not solve, or at least put a stop too, until you can get them out of the area. Believe me, this works. It works better than a yell with hand raised, works better than an open handed slap across the face, and works better than a wholesome whack across their little behind. I am speaking from experience here. And when combined with a good loud police whistle, these leashes are extremely effective. I mean, after all, you shouldn’t be expected to run around after your kid or watch them all the time, right? Holding them can be a chore, and they aren’t going to listen to you anyway, right? I mean, that’s a given. They are two years old for crissake. So do yourself and all of us a favor and get the damn leash.
And what is it with these sippy cups? If a kid can’t drink properly, then they don’t deserve to have anything to drink at all. I am sick and tired of having to be exposed to these children who are so pampered that they have to have a special cup that doesn’t drip on them. Is that how you teach about responsibility? Is that how you teach about growing up? No, it is not. It’s how you teach kids to avoid doing the hard things in life and take the easy road. And it makes me want to retch every time I run into one of these namby-pamby grown up babies with the helicopter parents who just suck their thumb and ask their friends to do their homework. So just give them a regular cup. If they spill some on themselves or on the floor, just have your wife change them or wipe up the mess. It will teach them a lesson—the kid, I mean. It will teach them to learn how to drink without spilling. Eventually. I know, I know, you are going to hear a lot of whining from the wife about how it’s a chore to change the kid’s shirt and carry a wet rag around all the time in order to clean up after the kid. Well, you just tell your wife that she should have thought about that before she said “I do”, Sarah.
http://www.rosemond.com/
You see, children have to learn patience and how to control themselves in society. They should not be running around peeing in your neighbor’s garden or throwing rocks at his house or family. So put them on a leash and give them a yard of play to start. If they are good and don’t misbehave in public for say, a month, give them two yards. You will have to watch them constantly, but you will see improvement, believe me. Because there are not a lot of misbehaviours that a quick, sharp yank will not solve, or at least put a stop too, until you can get them out of the area. Believe me, this works. It works better than a yell with hand raised, works better than an open handed slap across the face, and works better than a wholesome whack across their little behind. I am speaking from experience here. And when combined with a good loud police whistle, these leashes are extremely effective. I mean, after all, you shouldn’t be expected to run around after your kid or watch them all the time, right? Holding them can be a chore, and they aren’t going to listen to you anyway, right? I mean, that’s a given. They are two years old for crissake. So do yourself and all of us a favor and get the damn leash.
And what is it with these sippy cups? If a kid can’t drink properly, then they don’t deserve to have anything to drink at all. I am sick and tired of having to be exposed to these children who are so pampered that they have to have a special cup that doesn’t drip on them. Is that how you teach about responsibility? Is that how you teach about growing up? No, it is not. It’s how you teach kids to avoid doing the hard things in life and take the easy road. And it makes me want to retch every time I run into one of these namby-pamby grown up babies with the helicopter parents who just suck their thumb and ask their friends to do their homework. So just give them a regular cup. If they spill some on themselves or on the floor, just have your wife change them or wipe up the mess. It will teach them a lesson—the kid, I mean. It will teach them to learn how to drink without spilling. Eventually. I know, I know, you are going to hear a lot of whining from the wife about how it’s a chore to change the kid’s shirt and carry a wet rag around all the time in order to clean up after the kid. Well, you just tell your wife that she should have thought about that before she said “I do”, Sarah.
http://www.rosemond.com/
Parenting Advice - By Some Columnist - a parody
Dan’s a talk show radio host and you know, he likes controversy. It’s a way of boosting ratings. Get those caller juices flowing. Which brings in more money from the sponsors trying to sell gold at jacked up prices. So the other day he started his show by asking me, “So, Tom, I understand you don’t approve of father’s high-fiving their sons. Why is that?” So I explained that it’s because fathers have to show their sons leadership and high-fiving is not a way to do that. In fact, it’s just the opposite of leadership. It makes a statement, but the statement is, “I am your friend. I like you. I want to celebrate with you when you do something well.” This is not a message fathers should be giving to their sons. Fathers need to show their sons leadership. And a leader is not someone who high five’s his subordinates. A leader gives orders. Subordinates follow those orders. Because that is what subordinates are supposed to do. You don’t see a basketball coach high-fiving his players do you? You don’t see a football coach smacking his players on the butt, do you? Well, maybe those are poor examples. How about the military? You don’t see generals high-fiving majors or colonels, do you? It’s indecorous. It’s a breach of protocol. You can’t be a good leader and set an example for your son if you go around breaching protocols left and right. Do generals shake hands? Of course not. It’s the army! They salute. Well, okay, you might see one of them shaking hands, but only with civilians. But, so then a caller comes on the show and says, “I high five my son. I like to. He likes it too.” So I said to the bad father. “You are missing my point. You need to show leadership. High-fiving is something that equals do to each other, okay. You don’t see a CEO high-fiving an employee do you? Okay, other than in the tech industry. Apple. That guy Steve Jobs. And Bill Gates. But these are really just exceptions, okay, and anyway, who said they are good leaders? High fiving is a plea for acceptance; it’s a cry for companionship. “I wanna be your friend. Please, oh, please let me be your friend.” And it’s just a slippery slope from high-fives to playing catch with him to going to PG-13 movies with him and before you know it—boom—you’re at the store buying him liquor and cigarettes because you want him to think you’re “cool”. So you see my point. You grovel before your son and he would just as soon spit on you than want to hang around with you. You are more pathetic than a guy bringing a girl flowers because he wants the girl to like him. Big mistake! Never, ever, do that. It’s manipulation. You are trying to manipulate your son into loving you. Well I have news for you, mister smart guy. It won’t work. Your son will loath you all the more because he knows that you are spineless panty-waste who cannot – who does not know anything about leadership. You want to know a great leader? Patton. Patton was a great leader. You think he high-fived anyone? Do you? Can you honestly tell me that General George S. Patton high-fived anyone? Hell no! He smacked people around, though, boy. And he was a great leader. I mean, George C. Scott for crissakes. It doesn’t get any clearer than that! So, you want your son to know who is in charge, you just give him a good smack now and then. And that will keep order in your home, believe you me. Just ask my wife when she comes back. … She’s visiting her sister now.
http://www.rosemond.com/
http://www.rosemond.com/
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