I Am Completely Serious

I feel slightly uncomfortable about making this post, but it’s been sitting in my drafts since April and I’m just going to do it.

This book is really similar to Sarah Monette’s Melusine. Really similar, I mean. The narrative structure’s similar, the protagonists are similar, the setting’s similar, the MacGuffins are similar. And though they do refer to different things, two proper names are duplicated.

This is not easy for me to ignore.

Beyond that: I don’t recommend this book, because everything that sounds promising about it it screws up. I don’t buy one of the central relationships, I only half-way buy the other, the denouement is kind of a mess, and the Chinese are sneaky.

Details (containing spoilers for Havemercy and both Melusine and The Virtu) under the cut: Continue reading “Havemercy, by Jaida Jones and Danielle Bennett”

Pork chop and cream cheese sandwich.

Cut for length.

(Edited to add summaries, which I forgot before.)

Continue reading “Angels’ Blood, Singh; Powers That Be, McCaffrey + Scarborough; Crystal Singer, McCaffrey”

Alarming bits of language float around in a juku with an emphasis on English classes. Sitting on the manager’s desk today was a small piece of white paper on which someone had written “I have no regrets in life.” When I passed by again later, someone else had added a Japanese translation with some notes about the use of “in.”

People keep alerting me, in my official capacity as an American, to Michael Jackson’s death. I’m not sure what reaction I’m supposed to have. Should I moonwalk?

My life is already amply supplied with irritating things, so I don’t know why I spilled a glass of water on my laptop this morning. It just seems very unnecessary of me. Continue reading “Stuff”

My habit of getting online before going to work in the morning is in general a destructive one, but today it probably proved beneficial. Because if I hadn’t known about Michael Jackson when I went in today, I might have accidentally spoken Japanese when Goody Proctor told me he was dead. (Japanese like, “What?! Lies!”) She and the Devil have startled me into speaking Japanese once before.

(Goody Proctor felt the need to update me on this because Michael Jackson is on my list of names to use to make sentences with. (”Can I help you?” “Yes, I’m looking for Michael Jackson.” “What’s your sister’s name?” “Her name is Michael Jackson.”) The list goes: the students’ names, my name, the manager’s name, Michael Jackson, Taro Aso, Son Goku, Palkia, and then I start ad-libbing. Please do not ask me to explain this. My methodology was not rational.)

Zip and Zoh were extra-adorable today. I gave them a worksheet instead of their usual coloring sheets, and they swarmed me demanding coloring. (I’m unsure how it is that two six-year-olds configure themselves into a swarm, but it is a skill they all seem to have. A few very dedicated ones can actually form one-child swarms.) Zip may have attempted to climb. Having prepared for this, I had colored pencils for them. They did the worksheet with those, and obviously made every letter a different color.

I did discover that I shouldn’t make worksheets for the smallest kids using Helvetica. The lowercase a’s have the curly overhang, which I’d never really registered before. When I realized Zip and Zoh were carefully drawing out this unfamiliar letter not knowing what it was, I took the sheets back and drew in “normal” a’s for them. I luckily had time to redesign Mr. K’s before his class. Century Gothic appears to be the way to go, unless I can find some font specifically designed for kids to copy.

(Don’t ask me why, though my company is supposed to provide workbooks to go along with the textbooks, I have to make my own worksheets. I’ve been here five months and I’m still too irritated to talk about.)

I lost my black folding umbrella over the weekend. I think I left it in the soba restaurant at Echigo-Yuzawa. Mom gave it to me for Chrismukkah junior year, so I’ve had it for three and a half years, most of which time it spent in the front pocket of my purse.

It’s strange that it’s gone. I’d never held onto an umbrella that long without breaking or losing it. I’ve forgotten it in restaurants and gone back for it a couple of times. When I saw Obama speak last year, I had to leave it and my nalgene with security, in a cardboard box full of other umbrellas and nalgenes, but they were still there when I went back to pick them up after. This made me feel optimistic. The purse pocket stretched out to accommodate it, so it looks pregnant. I’m not in mourning for it, but it’s been within a few feet of me for half my waking hours the last few years. It feels a little like when I get my hair trimmed. The loss is not significant, but it is obtrusive.

When I realized it was gone Monday morning, I went out and bought a new one. The new one is beige and was 490 yen.

Some other objects that occasionally shock me by their absence recently:

Continue reading “The mortality of objects.”

Many years ago, the Good Queen was killed by a usurper Princess, and her only child lost. But the magicians say that the child, the true King or Queen, will come back someday, and make things right. So every ruler since then, no matter what they try to call themselves or what they do to the people, has been called only Prince or Princess.

In the mountains, there live fairies who know ways of taking a human outside of time. The child must be with them, given away by someone loyal to the Good Queen, to protect him or her from the usurper’s blade. But no one who went to look has ever gotten the child back.

The Prince now is very wicked. A young soldier in his army was too kind to an enemy, so he cursed him to become a tiger, to learn cruelty. The woman who loved the young soldier has a witch for a grandmother, though she has not seen her since she was a child. She puts the tiger on a leash and leads him snarling out of the Prince’s city, to the rocky hills where her grandmother once lived, not even sure whether the mad old woman is still alive. She hopes very much that the cure will be to kill the Prince.

Continue reading “Story from half-asleep on the shinkansen”

Went to Echigo-Yuzawa and rode the skylift and ate soba and suchlike with Mo today. There may be mountain pictures later, depending on whether they look horrible when I unload the camera.

I brought Mo a box of Niigata-local-specialty-or-at-least-that’s-what-it-says-on-the-box-type cookies - this is a Japan thing - because she said she’d never been to Niigata city before. She brought me anko Peeps (about which, as I have previously mentioned, I am enthusiastic), Maisen tonkatsu (which is apparently famous and is incredibly good, and I don’t even normally like tonkatsu), and Sadaharu Aoki macarons (also insanely good and apparently both famous and expensive). I maybe feel slightly guilty?

I think the moral here is, if I mention that I can’t find pinto beans here and she asks me if I want her to bring me up a kilo, don’t say “no,” because she will come up with something even bigger.

In speaking of Mr. Weepy, I caused him to manifest himself! I was walking back from the bank just now and saw him and his mom. They live a block away! I pass their house every time I walk to the bank or the mall! They were out in the driveway barbecuing, and Mr. Weepy was wearing gigantic safety gloves. His mom ran across the street to say hi to me, but Mr. Weepy stayed over by the grill and waved at me warily, very uncertain about my presence.

I kind of feel weird about it, too. Not to the point of taking a different route, or anything, but kind of weird. Despite my constant -ing about his classes, I like Mr. Weepy, but his parents just strike me as being pretty irresponsible.

I think Miss Hee-Hee lives nearby, too - I ran into her and her mom Thursday. For some reason, before I started this job I never got into the habit of noticing family resemblances. I think I’m doing so now because now I need to be able to tell which mom to give which kid’s homework to. Anyway, Miss Hee-Hee really is a tiny copy of her mom, except for the smirk. Same with Princess, Miss Dolphin, and Miss Ko-Omote. Cookie and his little brother (nickname Cake) look so much alike that I’ve confused them a couple times - I’m betting I would recognize their dad if he ever showed up, because they didn’t get those bugged-out eyes from their mom.

I had Mr. Weepy by himself for a make-up lesson yesterday. It was actually a really good day for him! That means that he hit me in the eye with a plastic golf club - but only once. And he said he wouldn’t do it again. I guess when he’s by himself, he doesn’t feel the need to demonstrate to Mr. Clown and Miss Foo how much tougher he is than the teacher.

Goody Proctor also had a make-up. This is only the second time I’ve had her without the Devil, and it’s hard to get a handle on her this way, because she’s pretty self-contained. It’s not just with me; she’s like that around everyone. I was kind of surprised at first, because she’s a really flamboyant-looking person fashion-wise - kind of a compromise between a Fruits girl and the Japanese interpretation of hip-hop aesthetics. Now I think she’s kind of the shy type who tries to let her clothes speak for her. (Mr. K’s mom (who’s very young) is the same type.)

It’s hard to get her interested in just games when there’s only the two of us there. When the Devil’s there, they compete, but she doesn’t want to compete with me. I finally figured out towards the end of class that she gets more interested if I let her get really free-form in coming up with sentences, instead of giving her building blocks like I do most of the other kids. Like, to Ken’ichi, Jerkface, or Kitty, if I want them to come up with a sentence in the form, “Yuzu went to school yesterday,” I have to point to Yuzu and hold up the flashcard for “yesterday.” Any less and they stall and complain about how much work it is, and their turns take too long, and the games take forever. (Jerkface and Kitty are getting better about this, but I’m close to writing Ken’ichi off as doomed in this regard. He is not a child who enjoys having to take initiative.)

Goody Proctor gets much more interested when I give her one-word prompts, or no prompt. She started asking me for vocab she didn’t know. “What’s that?” “Garbage can.” “Okay. The Devil went into the garbage can today.” Aww, Goody Proctor. I’m going to tell her you said that.

(Mee is like this, too, but then she’s very dedicated to the craft of insults.)

I cannot now find it, but james_nicoll at one point made a post saying something like:

“Dear fantasy writer,

The word “gypsy” refers to an actual, reality-based ethnic group. Having gypsies appear on your imaginary world without explanation is roughly equivalent to having the 1982 cast of The Mikado appear on your imaginary world without explanation.”

I think he was talking about a recent book, so I guess this has happened more than once.

Arrow’s Flight page 258:

“The gypsy family who died of snow-sickness two months ago—the ones in the Domesday Book report; wasn’t there a child left living?” she asked, her eyes still a little glazed.

Talia gives the baby to a woman who went mad after her own baby died, and it cures her and they live happily ever after, and it turns out the baby is her son reincarnated. I don’t think these apparent gypsies ever show up again, so I guess they just popped into Valdemar to have the baby and die. That was thoughtful of them.

I don’t know what the Domesday Book was doing in Valdemar, either - it’s not mentioned again after this page, so I guess it went home.

I’m rereading the Dragonriders books. Yes, I am perfectly aware of the foolishness of this course of action.

They’ve actually aged worse than Mercedes Lackey. I don’t know if it’s that Lackey’s big fetishes (the H/C and the angsty slash and the didactic liberalism) have actually retained their cultural relevance more than McCaffrey’s (the bodice-ripper alpha-male rape-romances and benevolent fascism); or if they’ve just retained their me-relevance better; or if it’s just a matter of the politics.

Because you know something about Lackey? She really does try.

(Assume spoilers for pretty much every single Mercedes Lackey book under here, if that bothers you.)

Continue reading “Appreciating Mercedes Lackey”

Apparently, if two new students get confused about when class is and show up at closing time, the school would rather send them home than have me work an hour overtime. (I leave at seven on Saturdays, but the juku teachers aren’t done until eight, so they wouldn’t have been keeping the office open just for the one class or anything.) I offered, but the manager said no. I’m kind of surprised, because they’re pretty paranoid about losing the newer students.

On one hand, I’m sad Mee missed class today, because, you know, she’s Mee. On the other hand, I had a free slot this morning. I just ended up using it to manufacture more paperwork for myself, though. My spreadsheets are thorough.

Ken’ichi has forgotten his homework notebook for two weeks running. He also has a skin disease and doesn’t sleep at night. I’m worried that he might be an alternate universe version of myself. Maybe I should warn him about the hats thing.

They crawl under the table, assume certain poses, and declare themselves radishes or potatoes.

Mr. Bug won’t answer to his name, I have to call him “daikon.”

ME: What is it?

MR. RAT: New!

ME: What is it?

MR. RAT: Big!

ME: Okay! What is it?

MR. RAT: <Whatever the opposite of big is!>

ME: Llll…?

MR. RAT: Little! Little!

*He points to his finger.*

MR. RAT: Big!

*He points to his crotch.*

ME: …No.

MR. RAT, PROUDLY: <It’s my penis!>

You enrich my life in so many ways, Mr. Rat.

I love this comic.

Franziska is the best character and if you don’t agree then you are wrong.

OH MY STARS CLAMP THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH FOR THESE LOVELY PLOT DEVELOPMENTS WHICH YOU EVIDENTLY DESIGNED SPECIFICALLY TO ENRAGE ME

Continue reading “xxxHolic to 182 and Tsubasa to 221″

On Saturday, no one came to pick Conan up after her class. This is the third time this has happened, so I was annoyed, but not really surprised. I asked Mee, “Where’s Mama? No Mama today?” Mee said distractedly, “No. No Mama.” Mee’s class is right after Conan’s, so as I did the first couple times, I brought her into the classroom with her sister.

Mee enjoys having Conan in there, partly because I have to include her in some of the games to keep her happy - which means I have to dial back the amount of actual studying that goes on - and partly because she secretly enjoys showing off her little sister’s cuteness.

As I was getting out a coloring sheet and crayons for Conan, Mee and I had a conversation.

MEE: Sarah, Sarah. Heart, heart.

ME: “Hot.”

MEE: Hot!

She opened the window, and stood there leaning out it for a second, peering contemplatively down at the side of the building. The classroom is on the the third floor.

MEE: <It’s good to go in and out the window… I didn’t come in the door! I came in the window.>

ME: Really? Well, please don’t jump out the window.

MEE: <It would be good if you climbed in the window - and then when you left, you went down a slide. That would be perfect! A slide would be perfect!>

ME: If you say so.

I didn’t think anything in particular of this conversation until class was over. Mee and Conan’s mom came stumbling in, out of breath and looking panicked. “I couldn’t come for Conan,” she wheezed. “The door was locked.”

“- the door?”

“The first floor door was locked!” She made a locking gesture for me, looking frantic. “Someone locked it! I couldn’t get inside!” Zuzu had come in with her, looking hot and sulky, very similar to an eight-year-old who’d had to stand out in the sun waiting for someone to let her in.

Mee and Conan were standing behind me. I would have expected Mee to ask a lot of questions about this, as it’s the sort of thing that would appeal to her imagination, or at least to make fun of her mom for panicking. Mee is the family’s sanguine temperament, and her mother is the melancholic. (Conan, who throws the foam ABCs at me and then cackles, is obviously choleric.) But she just walked calmly past us towards the manga shelf. Conan, taking her cue from her sister, followed her.

Mee-Mama, whose panic hadn’t worn itself out yet, noticed a sign on the wall about the mock-Eiken test and grabbed Mee’s shoulder. “Oh, Mee! I don’t think we’ve signed you up for your test yet -” I got the manager to help her with that, and applied myself to chasing Zuzu around the couch until she smiled. I guess Mee-Mama must not have had the school’s number in her phone, so she had to go look it up or something to call the office.

After they’d gotten themselves sorted out and Zuzu was safely into her juku class, I asked the manager, “How did the door get locked?”

“I don’t know. But it really was locked.”

I considered Mee’s claim of “No Mama.” I considered her abrupt fascination with the idea of entering and leaving buildings through their windows. And I considered her uncharacteristically quiet reaction to the news that her mother had been locked out.

“…Maybe it was Mee,” I said.

“Maybe,” he agreed.

1) Sleep until eleven.

2) Run out of toilet paper.

3) Stumble to the store to get some, startling a kid so he crashes his bike and skins his knee right in front of me. Ask “Are you okay?!” in English a couple times before you remember you’re in Japan. Give him tissues.

3a) His parents show up in the car. Parents, in Japanese: “Did you fall down again!?” His little brother, hanging out the window, in English: “Bye-bye!”

4) Come back and go back to bed another six hours.

5) It didn’t work.

I feel like I’ve been microwaved in a tin cup. As for some reason invariably happens when I get sick, I want to play Pokemon.

I guess I could have caught this from nearly any of the kids - there were a lot of runny noses this week.

(I for some reason don’t feel my Policy applies to this, I think because I think the Bye-bye kid is cute and the tin cup image is funny. It’s a flexible Policy?)