"They all look so lonely to me . . ."

I was walking in the Shibuya area when my Korean friend made this observation. I certainly haven't been in Tokyo long enough to make any sort of assessment of the emotional state of its residents – but at least as far as how they look, I have to agree with her. I'm sure it's not at all fair, considering that the much greater cultural distances must have an impact on my perceptions, but I can't help but compare my interactions with people in Tokyo to those in Mexico City and New York, the other big cities where I've spent at least some time. The main comparison that I can't avoid making is this; In Tokyo, young people are often generous and helpful when it's obvious I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, whether it's in a restaurant or bar or concert or bookstore. But in New York and D.F., it's basically as if EVERYONE is your friend. People you don't know will smile at you in the street. Store clerks will exchange banter with you. Of course, here's where, on a certain level, the comparison gets really unfair – because obviously, I don't speak Japanese well enough for anyone to banter with me, and just from looking at me most store clerks and strangers know they've got (at best) a 50/50 chance of encountering an uncomprehending wall of Gaijin if they try it.

But I think I got my perceptions strongly confirmed from a very reputable source recently. I met a really interesting guy named Teru at a really small club called The Room. He had been born in Japan, but his father moved the family to Stanford, CA when Teru was just entering third grade, and he lived in CA until he turned 18 and returned to Japan to go to college. He went to American school the whole time he was in the U.S., so he speaks fluent English (with an almost unnoticeable accent), as well as fluent Japanese (though he said he can't read Kanji particularly well). For the record, I'm filled with unflattering jealousy whenever I meet someone who's fluent in two languages, but I managed to fight it down this time quickly enough to have a really cool conversation about the tenor of life in Tokyo. He basically agreed, from the perspective of a native, with a lot of the feelings and opinions I've formed about Tokyo.

The most important insight he gave me, one that I in a million years could not have conclusively arrived at on my own, is this. Tokyoites are cold and reserved when it comes to dealing with Gaijin – but they're cold and reserved when dealing with one another, too. I'm not getting any special treatment when the Family Mart clerk goes through a robotic, ritualized routine devoid of inflection. He follows the exact same script when helping out the Japanese person behind me. Teru speculated that this has to do with the Japanese philosophy towards work – even people in customer service jobs believe in an absolute wall between their professional and personal lives. They become their job during the hours they're getting paid for it, and that's considered the absolute right way to be. Contrast this with America, where even someone in a somewhat sensitive public relations type position, as I was at the law school, is not necessarily going to be considered any less of a model employee if, when given half a chance, they tell a joke, express a personal opinion, inquire about the well-being or wish for the continued health of the complete stranger they're dealing with. That's actually often considered one way of being a good employee.

What implications these differences have for the social fabric, I'll leave for more qualified minds. But I'll count it one mystery kind of solved.

Fate is Cruel.

I nearly busted out when I saw this. It may not be clear from the photo, but this is an actual Royce the 5'9" twelve inch that has been made into a candy dish. You know you've got a hit on your hands when they, umm, melt it down to make it into something else . . .