It's a Smarr World…
Coming to a foreign country affords one the chance to start anew; to be responsible and make a good name for oneself and one's family in a whole new locale. Without the trappings of the past, you can live a thoughtful, well-planned lifestyle that maximizes resources and boosts future opportunities. Or you can do what we did!
Our biggest "guilty pleasure" since moving to Japan has been the purchase of Annual Passports to the Tokyo Disney Resort. These are not reimburse-able by "the Man" and therefore come straight out of the family coffers, but we like living on Tofu!
We bought the APs using the following tortured logic: 1) With the move, the kids haven't had much of a vacation; 2) Our family vacations typically involve a few days at a Disney Resort (either in CA or FL); 3) The kids, in this completely new environment, should really have some links back to familiar things from the US; 4) My wife and I aren’t crazy about McDonald's; 5) With Tokyo Disney Resort just 55 minutes from home, we can give our kids "Summer Fun" AND link them back to good ol' America; 6) BUT WHY LIMIT THIS TO SUMMER?!? We can give the kids a little slice of the old country ALL YEAR LONG!!!
And thus, gentle reader, the little Family from Connecticut forsook purchasing a motor-car and instead spent the money on APs to Tokyo Disneyland and Tokyo Disney Sea. We've already gone six times. Only 18 more visits 'til we break even… or collapse. Course, that's not including the popcorn. At four bucks per bucket. Times three buckets. Refilled at least twice. I REALLY like my Tofu!
What first clued me in to the fact that our purchase may not have been, say, prudent (aside from the disturbing lack-of-couch in our living room) was an event that occurred on our second trip to the Magic Kingdom. A Disney cast member / indentured servant / serf felt compelled to give one of my darling angels a sticker. In the process, she noticed, dangling from my daughter's neck, the dual-park AP. She goggled. Then she pointed. Then she called her fellow cast member /serf over to verify that what she thought she was seeing was, in fact, what it was. Apparently, these two employees had never actually SEEN a guest with an Annual Passport before. Why? Cuz Japanese mamas don't raise no fools. They know that the average person would rather bathe in honey next to an ant hill rather than bring six-year olds to Disney parks every other week for an entire year. And that's what it'll take just to break even.
And so now I'll leave you with my rendition of the beloved theme song:
M - I - C
("C" you every friggin' weekend!)
K - E - Y
("Y"? Because we're Idiots!)
M - O - U - S - I-n-c.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Friday, August 18, 2006
It's the education, Stupid!
A host of different opportunities wooed us to Japan. Some were very practical and business oriented -- Joni has a much better shot of making partner here than in the States (once she makes partner, I guess she'll become "the Man," which is something I'd rather not contemplate right now). Other factors in our decision to accept "the Transfer" include a whacked out sense of wanderlust, a desire to expose the kids to different societies and cultures, and marginally improved material circumstances. But the thing that really, REALLY swung the monkey for us was the education benefit.
When multinationals move their minions around the globe, they need to have some way ensuring that the spawn of their globetrotting minions stay on track with their former educational systems. If the companies don't do this, I've heard tell, the average, mild-mannered IT guy is likely to start channelling the spirit of an agitated postal employee. To avoid this potentially ugly scenario, a system of "international schools" has emerged in the places one is likely to find expats -- London, Paris, Geneva, Tokyo, Mumbai, Singapore, Hong Kong, Beijing, Rio, Mexico City -- even NYC. In concept, the "international schools" are merely supposed to provide an equivalent education to what a kid could expect to receive in the home country. But remember that the types of people who get sent on foreign assignments are generally type-A hyper-competitive envelope pushers. Projecting their nuttiness onto their seed, they (and by "they," I explicitly include "we") presume their children to be spectacular and worthy of only the best of the whole freakin' country's educational resources. And the expats are backed up by companies resigned to pay gobs to keep "their People" happy (and semi-automatic-weapon-free).
So, in practice, especially in places like Tokyo, these "international schools" have gone completely beyond the pale in providing "exceptional learning environments" for their charges. The most popular school (and not the one to be blessed with our kids) has facilities to rival a typical American community college -- Olympic pools, performing arts center, a 900-computer lab (for 1100 kids), that kind of thing. Most schools have ski chalets in the Japanese Alps. I still can't figure out what those are for. Anyway, these schools are generally first-rate -- not quite Exeter first-rate, but first-rate enough that it doesn't make much difference.
Since the schools are exclusive, they feel the need to exclude. Consequently, they've created a gruelling application process whereby to winnow away the unconnected, the unskilled, the unbright, and most importantly, the unfunded. Here's how it worked for the girls…
Required Letter of Recommendation from Employer = How connected are you/is your company? Partner X's wife sits on the board of ABC charity. ABC charity employs School Z's students and faculty in several events. Partner Y had kids at school Z and is a major contributor. The letter goes out, appropriate names get dropped. Result: My girls got accepted at School Z, aka, International School of the Sacred Heart, without interviews, no questions asked.
By contrast, Christian didn't have a recommendation letter from the employer, as none was required and we didn't have the foresight to send it along anyway. [An aside to anyone applying to anyplace competitive -- throw in your best stuff, be it connections, work-product, whatever, even if they don’t explicitly ask for it. The reviewer can always ignore the extra info you send, but they can't be impressed by what they do not see.] Anyway, without the employer recommendation, Christian had to rely on the strength of his grades, his teacher recommendations, and coursework -- in other words, his application was completely on merit. He had to be interviewed. We worried. Today, however, we received word that he is accepted to St. Mary's International School.
We got our first choice schools. After nearly three months of effort and worry, all our kids got accepted to what we feel are the most appropriate schools for them. Now enough of me being glib…I've always hoped to be able to send my kids to a top-tier prep school. As an immigrant myself, I've always been keenly aware of the opportunities inherent in "access," specifically, the type of access that a prep school environment affords. Having four kids on a single salary, this has never really been an option for my family. When all is said and done, I am profoundly grateful to "the Man" for providing my children the opportunity to enroll at Sacred Heart and St. Mary's (though my son is still reeling from the shock of going to an all-boys school).
A host of different opportunities wooed us to Japan. Some were very practical and business oriented -- Joni has a much better shot of making partner here than in the States (once she makes partner, I guess she'll become "the Man," which is something I'd rather not contemplate right now). Other factors in our decision to accept "the Transfer" include a whacked out sense of wanderlust, a desire to expose the kids to different societies and cultures, and marginally improved material circumstances. But the thing that really, REALLY swung the monkey for us was the education benefit.
When multinationals move their minions around the globe, they need to have some way ensuring that the spawn of their globetrotting minions stay on track with their former educational systems. If the companies don't do this, I've heard tell, the average, mild-mannered IT guy is likely to start channelling the spirit of an agitated postal employee. To avoid this potentially ugly scenario, a system of "international schools" has emerged in the places one is likely to find expats -- London, Paris, Geneva, Tokyo, Mumbai, Singapore, Hong Kong, Beijing, Rio, Mexico City -- even NYC. In concept, the "international schools" are merely supposed to provide an equivalent education to what a kid could expect to receive in the home country. But remember that the types of people who get sent on foreign assignments are generally type-A hyper-competitive envelope pushers. Projecting their nuttiness onto their seed, they (and by "they," I explicitly include "we") presume their children to be spectacular and worthy of only the best of the whole freakin' country's educational resources. And the expats are backed up by companies resigned to pay gobs to keep "their People" happy (and semi-automatic-weapon-free).
So, in practice, especially in places like Tokyo, these "international schools" have gone completely beyond the pale in providing "exceptional learning environments" for their charges. The most popular school (and not the one to be blessed with our kids) has facilities to rival a typical American community college -- Olympic pools, performing arts center, a 900-computer lab (for 1100 kids), that kind of thing. Most schools have ski chalets in the Japanese Alps. I still can't figure out what those are for. Anyway, these schools are generally first-rate -- not quite Exeter first-rate, but first-rate enough that it doesn't make much difference.
Since the schools are exclusive, they feel the need to exclude. Consequently, they've created a gruelling application process whereby to winnow away the unconnected, the unskilled, the unbright, and most importantly, the unfunded. Here's how it worked for the girls…
Required Letter of Recommendation from Employer = How connected are you/is your company? Partner X's wife sits on the board of ABC charity. ABC charity employs School Z's students and faculty in several events. Partner Y had kids at school Z and is a major contributor. The letter goes out, appropriate names get dropped. Result: My girls got accepted at School Z, aka, International School of the Sacred Heart, without interviews, no questions asked.
By contrast, Christian didn't have a recommendation letter from the employer, as none was required and we didn't have the foresight to send it along anyway. [An aside to anyone applying to anyplace competitive -- throw in your best stuff, be it connections, work-product, whatever, even if they don’t explicitly ask for it. The reviewer can always ignore the extra info you send, but they can't be impressed by what they do not see.] Anyway, without the employer recommendation, Christian had to rely on the strength of his grades, his teacher recommendations, and coursework -- in other words, his application was completely on merit. He had to be interviewed. We worried. Today, however, we received word that he is accepted to St. Mary's International School.
We got our first choice schools. After nearly three months of effort and worry, all our kids got accepted to what we feel are the most appropriate schools for them. Now enough of me being glib…I've always hoped to be able to send my kids to a top-tier prep school. As an immigrant myself, I've always been keenly aware of the opportunities inherent in "access," specifically, the type of access that a prep school environment affords. Having four kids on a single salary, this has never really been an option for my family. When all is said and done, I am profoundly grateful to "the Man" for providing my children the opportunity to enroll at Sacred Heart and St. Mary's (though my son is still reeling from the shock of going to an all-boys school).
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
New arrivals… and miles to go.
After a week of anticipation and back pain, our IKEA mattresses and kitchen fixtures came today. This means that our kitchen is mostly complete -- we're only missing bar stools, more flatware, more tableware, a computer hutch and chair, a computer, a filing cabinet, a mixer, toaster oven, decent knives and a fruit bowl. Oh, yeah, we need placemats, maybe a tablecloth and napkins.
In the four bedrooms, we have mattresses, but are missing dressers, some regular hangers, dress hangers, beds, mirrors, side tables, a decent alarm clock for Joni, writing desks, bookshelves, a comfy chair for me, kids computer, games/toys and holders for said games and toys, lighting and timers. We probably ought to get sheets for the new mattresses, too. Curtains might be nice.
In the bathrooms, we need toilet scrubbers, toilet plungers, a nightlight for the kids, maybe a separate bathroom scale in the kids bathroom, and some more bath towels. The bathrooms are actually in pretty good shape.
The entryway needs shoe racks, a cabinet or table, a mirror and/or decorative piece, a small rug, an umbrella stand, picture frames, and a mail sorter.
Our dining room needs a dining table and chairs. Some art or mirrors might be nice. I'll lump in patio furniture here, though this isn't a must.
Now my favourite part -- the living room. It's pretty much empty. We need two sofas, a coffee table/ottoman and end tables, comfy chairs, a game table and/or game caddy, big TV, universal DVD player/recorder, Sky Perfect TV hook up, surround system, lighting, rug, throws & pillows, wall unit/lowboy for TV, bookshelves, art, uh, I guess that's it.
Did I mention that we've already used up nearly a third of our suggested moving allowance? This might get tricky!
After a week of anticipation and back pain, our IKEA mattresses and kitchen fixtures came today. This means that our kitchen is mostly complete -- we're only missing bar stools, more flatware, more tableware, a computer hutch and chair, a computer, a filing cabinet, a mixer, toaster oven, decent knives and a fruit bowl. Oh, yeah, we need placemats, maybe a tablecloth and napkins.
In the four bedrooms, we have mattresses, but are missing dressers, some regular hangers, dress hangers, beds, mirrors, side tables, a decent alarm clock for Joni, writing desks, bookshelves, a comfy chair for me, kids computer, games/toys and holders for said games and toys, lighting and timers. We probably ought to get sheets for the new mattresses, too. Curtains might be nice.
In the bathrooms, we need toilet scrubbers, toilet plungers, a nightlight for the kids, maybe a separate bathroom scale in the kids bathroom, and some more bath towels. The bathrooms are actually in pretty good shape.
The entryway needs shoe racks, a cabinet or table, a mirror and/or decorative piece, a small rug, an umbrella stand, picture frames, and a mail sorter.
Our dining room needs a dining table and chairs. Some art or mirrors might be nice. I'll lump in patio furniture here, though this isn't a must.
Now my favourite part -- the living room. It's pretty much empty. We need two sofas, a coffee table/ottoman and end tables, comfy chairs, a game table and/or game caddy, big TV, universal DVD player/recorder, Sky Perfect TV hook up, surround system, lighting, rug, throws & pillows, wall unit/lowboy for TV, bookshelves, art, uh, I guess that's it.
Did I mention that we've already used up nearly a third of our suggested moving allowance? This might get tricky!
Backtrack: Temp Housing in Azabu Towers
[Note: These backtrack posts are things I jotted down sometime around the week that we arrived in Tokyo. I had limited access to the internet at the time and therefore these are the posts I meant to write back then, probably with a few embellishments. I'll demark the Backtrack posts with a Green title, for your convenience.]
When we moved to Tokyo on a "package" provided by "the Man," part of the deal was that we would have temporary furnished housing upon our arrival that would allow us to set ourselves up in the new locale. Needless to say, we didn't get "set-up" in the time allotted; Joni went straight to work and I was being run ragged with the kids, so the furniture buying didn't happen quite as we had hoped. Nevertheless, "the Man" actually did right by us here, providing us with housing in one of the more desirable properties in Tokyo -- the Mansions at Azabu Towers. (The term "Mansion" here being used in the Japanese sense to mean any reasonably large Western-style apartment building. We currently reside in a mansion of slightly over 2000 square feet, which might be labelled "cottage" back in Connecticut.)
We lived for a week or so on the eighth floor of this place, and right off the bat, I have to admit that my third favourite place in Tokyo so far has to be the Azabu Towers living room panorama of Central Tokyo at night. Azabu Towers sits on a hilltop with a quiet, residential area below, so the view is significantly better than the eighth floor would otherwise suggest. From our window, we could see an array of Tokyo's more interesting and beautifully lit skyscrapers. More interestingly, the Shuto Expressway -- one of Tokyo's major arteries -- runs as a double-decker freeway, which is in turn elevated above Roppongi-dori, one of Tokyo's smarter avenues.
From the eighth floor of Azabu Towers, watching the serpentine traffic slithering along the expressway in both directions, with the hustle and bustle of the local traffic on the ground level below, I felt as though I was observing an ant farm, Ridley Scott movie or the San Fernando Valley coming off the 405 at night. A very cool start.
The other interesting feature about Azabu Towers was the neighbourhood. The block consisted of three properties: Azabu Towers, which I've already described, the Tokyo American Club -- a snooty little perk that some US companys give their Tokyo expats that lies somewhere at the junction of country club and lonely hearts bar. The third and biggest resident on the block is the Russian Embassy compound in its full Stalinist grandeur. What odd bedfellows the TAC and Russian Embassy must have been during the Cold War. I'm sure there are plenty of great stories there…something I'll have to dig into.
BTW, during our stay, there were always no less than a brigade of Japanese police in full riot gear (the Japanese police busses, no lie, had windows covered with wire mesh).
I asked an officer if there was some unusual risk that warranted the heavy police presence. He looked at me baffled and said in earnest halting English, "No, Russian Embassy." I suppose the Japanese would rather bear the expense of extremely high security costs rather than face the potential embarrassment of having somebody harm the Russians on Japanese soil.
[Note: These backtrack posts are things I jotted down sometime around the week that we arrived in Tokyo. I had limited access to the internet at the time and therefore these are the posts I meant to write back then, probably with a few embellishments. I'll demark the Backtrack posts with a Green title, for your convenience.]
When we moved to Tokyo on a "package" provided by "the Man," part of the deal was that we would have temporary furnished housing upon our arrival that would allow us to set ourselves up in the new locale. Needless to say, we didn't get "set-up" in the time allotted; Joni went straight to work and I was being run ragged with the kids, so the furniture buying didn't happen quite as we had hoped. Nevertheless, "the Man" actually did right by us here, providing us with housing in one of the more desirable properties in Tokyo -- the Mansions at Azabu Towers. (The term "Mansion" here being used in the Japanese sense to mean any reasonably large Western-style apartment building. We currently reside in a mansion of slightly over 2000 square feet, which might be labelled "cottage" back in Connecticut.)
We lived for a week or so on the eighth floor of this place, and right off the bat, I have to admit that my third favourite place in Tokyo so far has to be the Azabu Towers living room panorama of Central Tokyo at night. Azabu Towers sits on a hilltop with a quiet, residential area below, so the view is significantly better than the eighth floor would otherwise suggest. From our window, we could see an array of Tokyo's more interesting and beautifully lit skyscrapers. More interestingly, the Shuto Expressway -- one of Tokyo's major arteries -- runs as a double-decker freeway, which is in turn elevated above Roppongi-dori, one of Tokyo's smarter avenues.
From the eighth floor of Azabu Towers, watching the serpentine traffic slithering along the expressway in both directions, with the hustle and bustle of the local traffic on the ground level below, I felt as though I was observing an ant farm, Ridley Scott movie or the San Fernando Valley coming off the 405 at night. A very cool start.
The other interesting feature about Azabu Towers was the neighbourhood. The block consisted of three properties: Azabu Towers, which I've already described, the Tokyo American Club -- a snooty little perk that some US companys give their Tokyo expats that lies somewhere at the junction of country club and lonely hearts bar. The third and biggest resident on the block is the Russian Embassy compound in its full Stalinist grandeur. What odd bedfellows the TAC and Russian Embassy must have been during the Cold War. I'm sure there are plenty of great stories there…something I'll have to dig into.
BTW, during our stay, there were always no less than a brigade of Japanese police in full riot gear (the Japanese police busses, no lie, had windows covered with wire mesh).
I asked an officer if there was some unusual risk that warranted the heavy police presence. He looked at me baffled and said in earnest halting English, "No, Russian Embassy." I suppose the Japanese would rather bear the expense of extremely high security costs rather than face the potential embarrassment of having somebody harm the Russians on Japanese soil.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Two weeks in Japan...
And no major disasters. Lots of minor ones, though. For instance, earlier this evening, I ran out to the local convenience store to buy milk. This has become something of a nightly ritual because milk is only sold around here in 1000 ml (about a quart) containers. The Japanese don't seem to drink nearly as much milk as Americans drink -- either lactose intolerance or an aversion to cow boobies, I don't know which, but the point is we go through a significantly larger quantity of milk than Japanese families of our size (assuming there actually ARE Japanese families of our size).
Anyway, I'm going out to buy milk at the Community Store, only to discover that the Low Fat brand I usually buy is gone. So I get the slightly more expensive brand that is always next to our old, reliable Low Fat. This milk is in Japanese. I don’t read Japanese. The guy at the counter talks at me, slightly longer than he usually does. As I also don't speak Japanese, I suppose he's just making small talk since he's beginning to recognize me as one of the regulars. I begin to feel like I'm part of the community; I feel good about the progress that I've made living in Japan for two weeks.
I was wrong. I wish I read Japanese. I wish I spoke Japanese. Had I either of these two skills, I would have been alerted to the fact that I was paying six bucks for a particularly hideous two quarts of putrefied yoghurt drink. We discovered my mistake when our eleven-year old tried to sneak a bowl of her mom's very-expensive-you-kids-eat-the-Frosted-Flakes imported Italian granola. The lowest point came a few minutes later, when one of the six-year-olds caught me at the kitchen sink furtively rinsing nasty yoghurt-cheese-milk from increasingly less imported granola. "Mom," she hollers through the house, "Dad's being Dutch again!"
And no major disasters. Lots of minor ones, though. For instance, earlier this evening, I ran out to the local convenience store to buy milk. This has become something of a nightly ritual because milk is only sold around here in 1000 ml (about a quart) containers. The Japanese don't seem to drink nearly as much milk as Americans drink -- either lactose intolerance or an aversion to cow boobies, I don't know which, but the point is we go through a significantly larger quantity of milk than Japanese families of our size (assuming there actually ARE Japanese families of our size).
Anyway, I'm going out to buy milk at the Community Store, only to discover that the Low Fat brand I usually buy is gone. So I get the slightly more expensive brand that is always next to our old, reliable Low Fat. This milk is in Japanese. I don’t read Japanese. The guy at the counter talks at me, slightly longer than he usually does. As I also don't speak Japanese, I suppose he's just making small talk since he's beginning to recognize me as one of the regulars. I begin to feel like I'm part of the community; I feel good about the progress that I've made living in Japan for two weeks.
I was wrong. I wish I read Japanese. I wish I spoke Japanese. Had I either of these two skills, I would have been alerted to the fact that I was paying six bucks for a particularly hideous two quarts of putrefied yoghurt drink. We discovered my mistake when our eleven-year old tried to sneak a bowl of her mom's very-expensive-you-kids-eat-the-Frosted-Flakes imported Italian granola. The lowest point came a few minutes later, when one of the six-year-olds caught me at the kitchen sink furtively rinsing nasty yoghurt-cheese-milk from increasingly less imported granola. "Mom," she hollers through the house, "Dad's being Dutch again!"
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