Sketches of Akihabara

I was chillin in Akihabara, or Akiba as the people who want to seem like they know a lot about Tokyo will say, and felt woefully out of place as I was the only person without a Playstation portable in my hands.

I bowed my head, mimicking the body language of the locals and tried to pretend my iPhone was a PSP. But it was just fakery, and not immersion, as I was too aware of my surroundings and conscious not to bump into the other loafing gamers.

Instead I just started to count the number of times I was collided into by a drifting PSPer. (by the time I caught the last train it was around 7. not counting the station madness)

Getting deeper into Akiba, I started popping into random shops, looking for insights into this mecca of geek and tech culture. Most of the bin sized shops I poked around in had barely any offerings that were recognizable. There was never a full computer for sale, but instead shelves and boxes of components. I didn’t know what I was looking at.

In another, more prime time area is was all large A/V shops and maid cafes. Sheepish looking salarymen clustered near the openings to the cafes, taking a pause from their PSPing just long enough to peer around to see if anyone was watching. As soon as they noticed everyone else was fully immersed in slaying dragons they would scurry up the stairs with the frantic shuffling of a classic nerd toting a briefcase.

Maids stood on the streets, with perma smiles, looking like video game avatars, no doubt enticing for the set that calls Akihabara home. I headed past them and into one of the giant A/V megastores.

All megastores I’ve ventured into in Japan have the same feel. The aisles are narrow, the products are many and arranged randomly (rows of potted plants sold next to rows of laundry machines.) and they feature the same audio scape. One sound signature of Japan is lightweight midi music adaptations of 1980’s American pop songs. (Think, the digital symphony of The Legend of Zelda performing ‘Danger Zone.’) Another sound signature is some guy yelling in a shrill voice through a small cone, even if there is a crowd gathered mere feet in front of him.

In the end, due to the assaulting cacophony of sound and the illogical arrangements of product, I forgot entirely what I was browsing for. I think it was a fake palm tree, or at least they seemed really appealing on this night tucked right next to the unaffordably priced washer/dryer/tv/refrigerator hybrid space saver.

I went back out to the streets to find a ramen joint where I would be served by a human being and not a video game character…

A Wilderness Experience in Japan

Buy a ticket.

Buy a view.

Buy the plastic to protect you from the elements. Buy a certain type of plastic to keep the dirt away. Do what you can to keep the nature at arm’s length. Please keep your voice at a whisper as you wait in line to view the river.

Take a boat ride, and listen carefully to the instructions when to raise the plastic on the edge of the boat to protect you from the unruly sprays of river water. They are looking into rearranging the rocks to minimize the unruly spray. They have top engineers looking into it. The same people who design hybrid engines, are being tapped to tame this sprawling nature.

They tell you when to lean right.

They tell you when to lean left.

They give you a count down, and tell you where to point the camera to capture the maximum natureness. They’ll apologize if you happen to get splashed, even if it was your fault for letting the protective plastic droop.

They’ll hold the camera for you.

They’ll give you a running commentary of what every single boulder on the river’s edge resembles. One is an elephant. The other is a gorilla. Nature, carefully filtered, chewed and presented in easily palatable and digestible micro bites. They’ll analyze cloud formations, and tell you what you are thinking they look like.

They’ll apologize if you get a bug bite.

They’ll get a net and catch that big fish and put it in a bucket if it is scaring the children.

Brush the river nature off, and brace yourself for trail nature.

Someone will be there with a loudspeaker to point out which rocks and roots to use for footing. The lines are orderly. Not like the morning subways. The entry to this nature trail might as well be the queue of Forever 21. Today, Nature is in high demand.

Every mountain top is sponsored by Coke, or Suntory, or Kirin and has a vending machine strategically placed at the summit, optimized for a maximum wilderness thirst quenching experience. There is a man there to take your coins and press the buttons if you have grown too weary from your guided, hand held ascent.

Every mountain has a t-shirt available for 5,000 yen and a matching set of postcards, posters, mugs and pocket deities. Yes, even the shrines on these peaks have a marketing department. It’s all for sale buddy-san. Buy a mini statue of the god that protects this mountain. He’d look fierce on your dashboard if you had a car.

That’s right, deities for sale.

For a thousand yen, and a prayer, this sacred warrior can protect you too as you take the air conditioned shuttle bus down the mountain and right to the train station in ample time for your departure.

Ah, nature in Japan…

Being Tall in Japan

The number one question I get about living in Japan is ‘So do you like feel really tall there?’

Yes.

There are plenty of restaurants that I can’t fit my legs under the table in. It reminds me of my days working in a pre-school when I would sit in the tiny chairs and just keep my legs to the side. Effectively riding side-saddle. Many of these restaurants also have sections with lower ceilings, so I have to bend over to even reach my seat that I won’t be able to sit in properly. And yes, I can tell you are laughing at me sir as I awkwardly fumble into position.

As far as low ceilings go, a few of the apartments I looked at made me feel like I was John Cusack stumbling upon the four and a half floor. After seeing a couple of these, I didn’t need to check them out any further after opening the door. I opted for a space with an 18 foot ceiling. I don’t feel tall at home. It’s nice.

I feel tall on the streets when I pass a little old lady and she violently turns her head upward, mouth agape (sometimes letting out a terrified shriek.)

I feel tall on the morning subway when I have ten people using my chest as a pillow as they snooze on their commute. I don’t feel as tall on the subway ride home, less people and the ceilings in the cars are actually pretty high. Higher than I found in the London tube.

I feel tall when I’m at a club and the lasers from the stage cast a shadow on the back wall that reveals my shadow to be head and shoulders above the moshing masses.

I feel tall when one of the first questions people ask me is ‘Whoa, how tall are you?’ I don’t know how tall I am in centimeters, which is their standard, so my information isn’t much use to them. Sometimes I say I am eight feet tall, because they just have to accept it and I can snicker to myself.

I feel tall when I’m playing streetball at Yoyogi Park. Where I am the default big man. I want to stay on the outside and pop threes, but they wave me down below, wanting to make entry passes into me as they call me ‘Shaq’ or ‘Dwight Howard.’ Ironic. It doesn’t seem to compute that I am skinny to most. It’s like my tallness has blinded them. And for a guy with a lifetime of derogatory skinny nicknames attached to him, I’ll take it.

Well, speaking of the morning subway, time to go catch one and serve my daily duty of ‘sleeping pole.’

I’ll talk to you all real soon.

Nomo Field Trip

A fistful of W+Kers went to Nike Japan today to see Hideo Nomo.

When we got to the large meeting room on the 23rd floor, there were intricate tape lines on the carpet. The pathways the lines created represented the exact path Nomo was to take to the front of the room. Very formal.

The crowd gathered (sitting cross-legged mind you, kindergarten flashback) in the space around the Nomo walkway. There were four large sections of people, probably 200-250 in all. All Nike employees except our small contingent of Wiedens.

I was snapping pictures of some of the Nomo artifacts in the room when word came down through the translators that cameras were not allowed. I looked around and saw dozens of employees snapping away, but put my camera away.

Nomo came into the room to a controlled burn of applause. It was something like a frenzied golf clap. Once he was at the head of the room a very vanilla question and answer session ensued (at least according to the translations I was getting!!)

Some guy asked Mr. Nomo:

“What do you think of the current quality of Nike cleats and products in general?’

What?! Really?! That’s what you’re burning to hear from a national legend and THE pioneer that defied the critics to become the first Japanese player to break the MLB barrier??

He did manage to twist one boring question into an answer along the lines of, “Baseball for me was always very personal. When I went to the majors I was excited and motivated to defy the voices who said I should never leave Japan.”

Talk about ‘just doing it.’

After taking a few group photos (if anyone who took my group’s picture reads this, I’d love a copy!) he was presented with a colorful statue representation of himself.

As he turned to leave, he stepped outside the bounds of the pathway taped to the ground. Luckily there were two guys with headsets on hand to quickly rush out and make sure he got back between the lines.