Saturday, July 11, 2009

Akihabara

There's one more blog you probably haven't read below this one. Go read it if you're into being linear.


"
It's almost after midnight
I can see the city lights, we're here."

At 10:30am last Tuesday, I was due to meet Diana Garnett, Atsushi Kurogi, and a very intimidating Yohei Kato at the Electric City exit of the Akihabara station. I left my apartment maybe an hour in advance, and still managed to be 10 minutes late. Normally I wouldn't have cared, but seeing as how I am more that slightly attracted to a particular member of the party, I immediately went into severely apologetic Japanese person mode, which probably made things more awkward than they should have been. If I wanted to go on about the mind-numbingly tense attraction and severe social ineptitude, it would make for pages and pages of quasi-entertaining reading which will probably come later, but, not now.
Upon exiting the station, the effect my senses experienced was similar to those that Leeloo underwent when she de-boarded the rocketship to Floston Paradise. Tall buildings stretched for miles, tightly packed together to create only enough space for thousands of Otaku to cram through. The building signs flashed and rotated, stacked up on top of each other to advertise the special products each floor offered. Hundreds of small buildings and street vendors lined the streets, beckoning people in to buy their porn, costumes, giant rotating beef on a stick. Happy hardcore rave music spilled out into the streets from small shops, adorable women in maid costumes waving signs and singing into microphones, their powers of cuteness luring the susceptible passersby into taking their coupons, submitting to their smiles, and buying thousands of yen worth of electronics and sweet strawberry shortcakes. Street vendors yelled at the public to buy their electronic accessories; thousands of meters of cables of every thickness and calibre wrapped around giant spools, LAN cables of every length and color, every converter cable you could ever dream of having. The tart smell of crepes wafted by as girls in costume danced in synchronized hand-waving patterns, advertising their cafe. The latest anime debut played on a wall of stacked screens outside of a DVD shop, accompanied by its hyperactive techno theme song. My head spun. 10:45am, and my mind had gone numb from the sensory overload.
Despite Yohei's strong insistence against the matter, our first stop was Atsushi's favorite maid cafe....the name of which I currently fail to remember. After getting up to the 6th floor, we were told to wait a moment. The four of us stood in the foyer of the entrance. If one has never experienced silence like smooth glass and enough awkwardness to kill a herd of wild caribou, now is the time for one to experience such. We gratefully accepted the first maid's invitation as she waved us inside. We were greeted by a room full of adorable young women in frilly maid costumes, donning bonnets, aprons, and dazzling smiles. "Irrasshaimase!!" they shouted in unison, their high-pitched voices sending a shiver of cuteness down my spine. Our maid led us to our table, her perfect curls bouncing with each giddy step. Upon sitting us down, she handed us some adorable menus, both in English and Japanese, and began to rattle off a string of specials and features in a high, syrupy voice that I could hardly understand at all. I caught words like "tea", "cake", "lunch", and "adorable", but beyond that I was mostly just dazzled by her ridiculous adorable outfit and the fact that I was in a big room full of bubbly maids. I ordered some kind of juice, probably, and she ran off to tend to other customers. Every five minutes, a new party of costumers would arrive, and the cuteness level would raise to an uncomfortably high level as they were greeting in unison by maids and led off to their table. The place filled up fast, and our maid brought us our drinks. She gave a speech to us about how much cuter our orders would taste if we put our hands together in the shape of hearts and said "Moe, moe, kyuu!" together at the same time. We did, and after we all died of embarrassment a little inside, my orange juice tasted just that much cuter. Yohei ordered tea that came in an adorable filigreed pot, and instead of the "say when," instruction usually given by servers, he was to say "Nyan~!" when he wanted her to stop pouring. His eye twitched as the tea came perilously close to the edge the cup. "....Nyan," he breathed expressionlessly, as the maid bounced up and down and stopped pouring. I nearly had a hernia I was laughing so hard. 
Throughout the hour or so we were there, there were various birthday announcements and celebrations and free slices of adorable cake for those who were lucky enough to visit the cafe on their birthday. Birthday participants got their pictures taken with the group of 10 or so maids, and were publicly embarrassed as the maids walked around them and make remarks about their cuteness. We stayed and drank our drinks, making small talk and stupid jokes, watching the women bounce back and forth and get paid to flirt with oversized men with backpacks and thick glasses. We waved goodbye to the maids, who all waved back. As soon as the elevator doors slid closed, Diana and I busted up laughing, doubled over with tears running down our faces, unable to breathe.
We walked around for awhile afterward, debating on what to eat. Eventually we came to a small restaurant with menu item advertisements plastered all over the walls. We akwardly ate Sukiyaki and raw fish as rave music and voices from loudspeakers could be heard softly from outside. Walking around, we stumbled upon various hobby shops that were endless levels high, stocked full of every figurine from every Japanese pop culture movement ever in existence. I ogled at foot-high representations of the Gurren Lagann, and drooled at the molded figures from my favorite game, Guilty Gear. Rows and rows of plush Totoros and Ponyos, massive Ghibli replica castles and weapons. It was a nerd's greatest dream. It was an even greater dream, of course, if you could shell out the hundreds of dollars the figurines cost, and the thousands you would have to give up for the large replicas. It was still fun to stare, even if nobody else but me wanted to go to the hentai floors. Someday, someday..... We found a cosplay shop, in which Diana tried on a ridiculously adorable Alice in Wonderland maid costume. Apparently she's going to buy it when we return to Akiba next month.
Soon after we ventured to Yodobashi Camera, an enormous electronics store that will supply you with anything you could ever want as long as there's a switch that will turn it on. At least 10 floors high, I couldn't help but get vertigo going up and down the sets of escalators, the relentless flourescent lights drilling into my eyes and the sounds of beeping and robotic movement coming from every corner of every floor. We looked at cameras, on thousand dollar tripods with features no one would ever need. Exercise machines that essentially just vibrated you, toy robots that blinked and smiled and ran you errands on wheels. I can't remember what our mission was in Yodobashi Camera, but I couldn't get out fast enough. 
You'd think one maid cafe would be enough for the average Akiba visitor. But oh, no. Atsushi, Akihabara master, led us down some strange streets to an unmarked entrance. Upon entering, we were greeted by another maid. But this time, there was no heavy makeup or glitter or excessive frills. She was makeup-less, tousled hair in a messy braid, carrying a thin silver tray. Wondering wtf was going on, I looked around. The wooden tables and chairs were stressed to look old. Customers' shoes creaked on the wooden floorboards as they walked. An old wooden ladder led up to rows and rows of books lining the cafe. It then donned on me that this cafe wasn't modern--in fact, it was reverse modern. It was made up to look like a cafe from the 1700's. Dumbfounded, I followed my party to our table, which had paint chipping and peeling across the top. The tea was endless, so that was exciting. We also got a pamphlet with our cafe experience that I guess detailed that each employee of the cafe was there representing a different character from an old cafe manga. There were a few female characters, and one male. They were identifiable by their brooches. Looking around, I searched for the male employee, and let out a squee of Zuka happiness as I realized that he was very obviously a she. I bubbled to myself silently about my love for crossdressing as we ordered small cakes and split them. I started making weird jokes about the banana sauce, and finally things got a little less awkward. For, like, 5 minutes. Though the effort to make the cafe look throwback was definitely effective, the attempt to match the books to the theme was not. We leafed through a dinosaur pop-up book perplexedly before leaving the cafe.








Yes, I know the last post is gone. No, I don't care. Yes, it will be back soon.

Big Wave 21 Community Kitchen

"
Extra sugar, extra salt
Extra oil and msg

Shut up and eat!
Too bad, no bon appetit!
Shut up and eat!"

A bit ill at ease about my classes at Tamagawa being over, I sat around today strumming my guitar and chatting with Americans on Skype. Not wanting to dwell about the end of something so awesome that was snuffed out so quickly, I went to the grocery store and bought a ton of random shit to cook with--considering I'll be hanging around the apartment a lot more in the future to do my complete lack of any agenda at all, I'm probably going to need to, you know, eat. I wrote a few more verses to a really sappy confession-of-love-song before getting frustrated with my bad Japanese grammar, downing an entire carton of orange juice, and going downstairs to make some damn food. 
My cooking skills are basically limited to the following: spaghetti, miso soup in a packet, noodles in a styrofoam cup, chicken breasts, ground beef, eggs, and toast. Today was an eggs and toast day. I grabbed my eggs, toast, and fake spreadable butter in a plastic tub, as well as my new David Sedaris book "Me Talk Pretty One Day", and schlepped downstairs after making really awkward eye contact with a Chinese girl. I entered the kitchen, an explosion of pink walls with intricately painted trees winding up and down the sides, climbing up to the ceiling. There was a Japanese(?) girl in the kitchen already, cutting up some lemons and maybe putting them into alcohol or something. I don't know--she makes me feel really awkward. I see her every night, she's always here, hanging up laundry or handwashing some article of clothing, and she never says anything to me. She kind of makes me feel the way your mom would when you've done something bad, and she knows it, and you know she knows you know it, and she's giving you the silent treatment to emphasize her intense disappointment in you. In an effort to evade passive-agressive-mom-girl and her weird lemoney sangria, I started whistling, and went to turn on the stove.
The stove is a rather large issue in my day to day life. You don't just turn a knob. You have to like, turn the knob, wait for the flame to puff up with a little click, and you have to push the knob in in a certain way and keep it there in order to get the flame to keep burning. I don't really get it, at all, because I didn't grow up in the goddamn stone age, so cooking dinner is always kind of an exciting challenge. 

me: *puts down eggs, bread, fake butter* *deep breath* Okay. *turns knob* 
stove: *click* *fire puffs up* *goes out*
me: *deep breath* ....okay. *turns knob*
stove: *click* *fire puffs up, stays for a minute* *goes out*
me: *turns around*
mom-girl: *cutting lemons* *glares at me*
me: *turns back around* Ooookay then. *turns knob* 
stove: *click* *puff* *fire goes out*
me: *turns knob* 
stove: *click* *puff* *fire goes out*
mom-girl: *drops knife on table in frustration*
me: Okay--okay, okay. *turns knob*
stove: *click* *puff*
me: ....Okay?
stove: *fire still burning*
me: Hah! *turns around*
mom-girl: *gathers things and leaves*

I proudly melted some butter and cracked some eggs. After a few minutes, the Japanese dude whom I briefly spoke with before entered the kitchen with a basket of food and a stereotypical surgical mask on his face.
"Herro!!" he said, excitedly. Ecstatic to make human contact, I responded and asked how he had been. He said he had been well, and that he didn't mean to pry, but he had seen me playing my guitar in my room when my door was wide open...I purposely leave my door wide open while I'm in there in an attempt to draw people in so I can force them to be friends with me. We talked about music for a minute, and he asked if I knew Paramore. I lol'd, and said I did. "I play bass!" he exclaimed. "Do you know Rehacheepapa?" 
"....what?" I squinted at him. It was hard enough to figure out wtf he was saying, let alone through the surgical mask. "Rehacheepapa. Rehacheepapa? You know? Rehacheepapa." Fuck, I thought. Usually I can get through the Engrish. This was a tough one. 
"You play bass. You like the bass player. Rehacheepapa."
"Yes, Free. Free from Rehacheepapa." It suddenly made sense.
"Flea! Flea from Red Hot Chili Peppers!"
"Yes! Yes!" We jumped for joy as my eggs popped and sizzled. Turns out he's 28, and played bass for about 4 years. I finished my eggs and slapped some bread onto the pan. You can make toast with pretty much any hot appliance. Did you know that? After my 'food' was finished, I sat in the adjoining lounge room as a bubbly Japanese game show sparkled with bobs and whistles and contestants were degraded for not passing some kind of sick challenge or other. The main door opened, and I saw a man with a guitar on his back walk past the kitchen door. I dropped the book in my hand and craned my neck to watch him walk by. I chewed anxiously as I wondered if he would come into the kitchen. Thankfully, he did, a few minutes later. 
Now guitar-less, the Japanese man shoved his long, black hair into a messy bun and started shuffling through the dishes. I pretended to be thoroughly absorbed in my eggs as I half-understood their rapid, mumbly Japanese. I heard my presence mentioned and pretended not to understand. Apparently I'm not the world's greatest actress.
"This is Masa. He plays guitar, too." 
"Oh, hi, I didn't see you there." I say something moronic like this, and get up to shake his hand. I found out that he's in a band called Die For City, (a play on the word 'diversity') a popular local band who plays (or used to play) around Shibuya. The band's name came from the idea that the members of the band are from different countries--apparently the drummer is American, and the singer is British. The other man busied himself making some crazy spaghetti dish as Masa and I talked about music. I pleaded with him to tell me about local clubs and live houses in Shibuya, asking him to hook me up with anyone who might want to jam sometime. He scratched his goatee and asked how old I was. I said I was 20, and they both laughed. I still don't know what that meant. I was reminded that the other man's name is Humi--I've met 497689876 Japanese people in the past three weeks, I can't feel guilty about not remembering names anymore--and Masa and I exchanged myspace urls before he left me to return to my yolky eggs.
Not five minutes later, a bald,  overweight white man in a polo shirt and glasses trots in through the sliding door to ask Humi something. In a heavy British accent, he introduces himself as John. John moved to Japan on a whim 4 years ago after being bored with his life in Liverpool, and currently teaches English on a rotation in different universities around Tokyo. After commenting that he must be fluent in Japanese, he replied, chuckling, that he could hardly understand any. Which was a bit disconcerting. But, then again, he didn't seem particularly motivated to attach himself to a particular place. John was a wandering vagabond. We talked about how lovely, sexist, and safe Japan is, before he wandered off to his room. 
Humi and I sat and watched Japanese game shows I couldn't understand for awhile before we eventually separated. He's probably in his room blogging right now, too.

Probably not.