The major pastime in Tokyo, as I’m sure you can guess, is shopping. It’s the perfect thing to do on a date, because it takes the pressure off conversation. Across an aisle, over a display stand, your eyes meet, and you smile, and you begin the process of falling in love.
I have one friend who I have gone shopping with many times. Often, at the point of purchase, she takes my cash, and pays with her credit card instead, because she gets points. I always wondered what she got with these points, and I couldn’t believe it when she showed me the catalogue. After all these times using her credit card, she gets to choose between a corkscrew, a pouch, or tupperware, as her 1999 gift from the credit card company. I nearly died laughing, nearly cried from laughing too hard. And so while she ordered in her choice on a pay phone, I leaned against the next phone over in the busiest train station in the world, feeling like I was in a movie I always wanted to be in, my own.
I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s actually nothing to do in Tokyo, but shop. Spending money is like breathing here. Money circulates. It gets around. Fortunately, the shopping’s pretty incredible. Tokyo seems to break down into different districts which specialize in their own product. There’s Akihabara for electronics, Asakusa for Japanese traditional items, and of course Kabukicho for soiled underwear and other garments of Tokyo legend. My favorite area is Ochanamizu. There’s about two blocks with music equipment stores stacked one on top of the other. Then, there’s about four blocks of snowboard stores. No joke. I swear there are more snowboards on this block than there are in Canada. Finally, there’s a neighborhood of used bookstores. Apparently, there used to be a university near here, so these are used bookstores that are really old. I thought I’d look for a bargain paperback, but this was stuff for collectors, serious collectors – early 20th century editions, like an original copy of Oscar Wilde’s Salome in a glass case. What was strange is that I was all alone in most of these stores. And I wondered who in Tokyo could possibly be interested in these obscure books. Nobody even reads Somerset Maugham anymore.
In the same district, there’s a used CD store named Disk Union. This particular locations is about 5 floors. But it’s not like the Tower, in which the whole building is a Tower building. This is more like a regular building with separated rooms intended for different stores, but instead every room is Disk Union. I went to the second floor for reggae, but ended up in a room filled with bluegrass, and was directed across the hall to the reggae room. This is the first store I’ve been in with a used Tango section.
Somewhere in Ochanamizu, I’ve heard about a CD rental store, where you can get Bjork bootlegs and other obscure recordings. I’m getting an 8track and a CD burner next week, and I may never buy another CD in my life.
A few nights ago, I visited a British friend. On our way back to his place, he picked up a used record player at a junk shop. All it needed was a needle change, but before I knew it we had the whole turntable arm in pieces. After much fucking about, we got the record player going, but at a very low volume. If nothing else, it would be a good decoration, I thought, as I watched a green slab of volume spinning around peacefully. Vinyl’s a pain, but it’s got a future. Vinyl’s got wa, it’s got inner life qualities. Original editions matter. But as far as CDs our concerned, a burned copy is as good as the original.
