It's 4:20, Dude

I'm still kinda drunk. I got only a little bit of sleep. But I have to be up because I have to hit the Tsukiji Market. More on that later when I'm back.

As for yesterday, damn - quite a full day, even though we didn't cover all that much ground.

We got up fairly early and had breakfast at the hotel before scouting out Tsukiji a day ahead, so we'd know exactly where to go this morning. It's odd to see the biggest, busiest fish market in the world abandoned and at a complete standstill. While there were masses of tourists outside (yesterday was a national holiday, and people have converged upon Tokyo from all over Japan), the only creature stirring at Tsukiji was this cat, on the lookout for fish scraps.

We then headed over to Asakusa, where my friend Keith is staying. He's from San Francisco and is temporarily living in Yamagata as an English teacher, and he took advantage of the holiday weekend to come down to Tokyo and hang out. He had a bit of trouble finding us, so in the meantime I went to sample another local delicacy...



We met up and did the main things to do in Asakusa - like everyone else. Joining about a million holidaymaking Japanese, we checked out the Kaminarimon. Yet another big ol' temple. *yawn* Then we went and shopped for uniquely Japanese housewares on Kappabashi-dori, because I really needed a push-button soy sauce server. Seriously. But the real reason for anyone to hit Asakusa is to see all of Tokyo - through a glass of Asahi. The Sky Room at the top of the Asahi building is free to visit, you can stay as long as you like, and the beers don't cost any more than they do elsewhere. And they look like this:

My mom split to go meet up with some of her own friends, so Keith and I geeked out in Akihabara.

Known as "Electric Town" and a mainstay of discount electronics, we were more interested in the over-the-top manga culture, where geeks get their jollies looking at comics of school girls being sodomized by demons, build models of big-breasted girls in shibari rope bondage, and fantasize about giant robots. The girls, of course, have their own version, with guy-on-guy spoofs of popular comics. And yes, I bought some of this stuff. For posterity, of course. We even went all girly and had coffee and croissants at the Heidi Cafe, a cafe dedicated exclusively to the anime character Heidi, Girl From the Alps. If there are three words to describe such an experience, they're "cute," "cute," and "CUTE."

Keith said as we walked through the Heidi Cafe, "I think I'm going to die of diabetic shock."

Which summed things up nicely - if Akihabara is anything, it's extreme. The extreme cuteness of the more kiddie comics. The extremely graphic nature of some of the adult comics. The extreme sound and lights and flash coming from each store. It's total sensory overload, and after a while, I'd had enough. I was about to have a seizure.

So we hopped on the JR Yamanote Line train and got back to my current hood of Ginza, where I showed Keith around my neck of the woods (so to speak), retreading much of the previous night's jaunts. And that was just fine by me. Because this included the ¥300 Bar, where I'm always happy to return. In fact, it may be my new favorite bar in the world.

After many, many $2.80 beers, cocktails, and shots, we made friends with a Japanese guy named Rich, with whom we may meet up tonight in Shinjuku. Apparently, he and his really-trying-hard-to-speak-English friends want to kick it at an Irish pub. That should be interesting...

As for last night, the most interesting part was after the fact. Being short, I'm used to people taking pictures of me from a top-down perspective. Here's how it comes out when I'm being photographed by someone even shorter than me.

(If you can't figure it out, I'm the shorter, darker guy on the right...)

Fascination Street(s)

I'm not doing Tokyo any justice by staying here only three nights.

We went out and explored the area around our hotel and wound up covering a few of the city's neighborhoods: Ginza, Tsukiji, and Shimbashi. One could easily spend a few days on these little areas alone. Around every corner lurked something new and different, and I found myself telling my mom, "Hey, wait, stop!" every couple of minutes, often for a photo opp or because something smelled good. But mostly because I was simply having my mind blown.

For instance, did you know there's a statue of Godzilla in Tokyo?

Well, now you do.

How about a theatre dating back to 1889?


Peek around a random corner and you might find a little izakaya or yakitori stand or noodle bar that only seats a handful of people - maybe even under a railway arch. We opted for a cool little ramen joint - the kind where you pick your dish by buying a ticket from a vending machine, then further customize your order by handing the server your ticket and a checklist. Want the noodles cooked firm? Soft? Want your broth light? Heavy? Greasy? Spicy? How about some slices of meat. Check off what you want and it's yours. And should you want another bunch of noodles added to your leftover soup, you can slip a ¥100 coin into the slot in front of you and someone will drop a serving into your bowl from behind the counter. All that and it tastes fan-fucking-tastic. The perfect bowl of tonkotsu ramen, served up with precision and efficiency.

The ramen was the perfect foil for the chill in the air, and highly necessary for our walk.

We headed over near the Imperial Palace (as in where the Emperor's family lives, not the cheesy casino in Vegas) and my mom pointed out the location of our old house from back in the day. I didn't even know we had a house there. Now you might think that we must've been loo-ho-aded to own a house in Ginza, but my grandfather had bought the house back in the 50's in the post-war rebuilding days. She also pointed out the chanson bar (yes, there's Flench in addition to Engrish!) where she used to sing, a bakery that one of her old friends owns to this very day, as well as the building that once housed my dad's old Tokyo office. All this history I didn't even know about.

In return, I showed my mom the Sony Building, where I would've gone on junkets back when I worked for them, had I had a passport at the time. (Long story, and yes, there was a time when I couldn't get a passport!)

Then I showed my mom what I really know. Or at least, the type of thing I seek out when I travel. Like the 300 (Sanbyaku) Bar. I read about it in one of my guidebooks and thought, "¥300 for every single item on the menu? It must be a dive." Well, if dive bars in Tokyo serve name-brand liquor, make great cocktails, serve small plates, and are paneled with pristine hardwood, then I'm really gonna like this town. Hell, even my mom - who doesn't care much for alcohol nor the places it's served - liked the place. My ¥300 Manhattan was meticulously constructed, my mom actually enjoyed her girly cocktails, and I walked out with a buzz for less than the cost of a single drink at most area bars.

We continued our walk and I, of course, had to hit up a couple of record stores. While American and European imports are cheaper here, it's the Japanese versions I'm after. Because Japan-printed CDs are ridiculously overpriced, they often come with bonus tracks or artwork that makes them sort of worth the price tag. Unfortunately, the money wasn't only sort of debited from my account, but at least now I can say I have a copy of Daft Punk's Discovery with Japan-only cover art by Leiji Matsumoto.

Another history lesson: One of the music stores was where my mom used to go to back when she was in college. That was a looong time ago. Like, REALLY long, long, long ago. (Just seeing if you read this stuff, Mom...)

It wasn't long before I was hungry again. Ramen consumed in the 5 o'clock hour doesn't really make for dinner, at least not since I was in college. Also a really long, long time ago.

"How about something foreign? Wouldn't you like to try the Japanese version of foreign food?" my mom asked.

No. Nyet. Nein. Iie! "We're in Japan!" I said. "I think we should stick to Japanese food. As long as it's not more fish."

It was at that moment when I saw a place with a cartoon of a Chinese guy out front, along with the lettering, ヤン　ヤン (Yan Yan). And behind the window, I saw the guy in the cartoon pounding and stretching Shanghai noodles by hand. "On second thought, Mom... Chinese sounds good."

Good? It was fucking great. We went upstairs and the place was packed elbow to elbow, with barely enough room to squeeze into the table for two that had just opened up. Always a sign of a good noodle joint. The dishes were served super-quickly, as fresh noodles need little time to cook. And the taste? Out of this world. My favorite noodles I had today. And that's a lot of noodles. For lunch in Nagano, we had what they do best: Soba. And they were great. Then there was the delicious aforementioned ramen, which had me going mmm *slurp* mmm *slurp* mmm - you get the picture. And then these Shanghai noodles? I wanted to go home and head to Chinatown - the biggest Chinatown in the world, you know - and slap all the noodle makers across the face, and tell them to go to Japan and learn how to make real noodles.

Afterward, I went downstairs to thank the chef profusely for his awesome noodles. I spoke to him in broken Japanese. He replied in broken Japanese. Because the dude's Chinese. And speaks Japanese as well as I do. Which is to say, hardly at all. That exercise verified that I had some authentic Shanghai noodles. I think. I'll just have to go to Shanghai to investigate.

But before that, I need to immerse myself in more surreal. Here's a good start: A film festival featuring Steven Seagal.

Folks, there are some things in the world you just can't make up. This is one of them.