Life in a Japanese "capsule"

By Michael J.W. Stickings

Allow me to preface this post with two points:

1) I love Japanese culture, and have loved it ever since I first read Yasunari Kawabata's glorious novel Snow Country many years ago. I have come to love Japanese literature, film, art, food, drink, and design. I hope to travel to Japan in the not-too-distant future.

2) Oftentimes, during my commute into downtown Toronto for work, I think, as I shuffle my way through the dense crowds at Union Station, the city's main train station, and as I push my way onto a packed subway car, far more pushed than pushing, and as I stand there amid the unpleasant humanity, just how thoroughly uncivilized we and our daily lives can be.

Well, as I read Hiroko Tabuchi's interesting piece in yesterday's Times on Japan's "capsule" hotels, I realized, as clearly as ever, a) that not all Japanese culture is good, and b) that my uncivilized, dehumanizing commute from a lovely detached home in the suburbs to an office with a nice view in one of the nicer cities in the world really isn't so bad.

Make sure to read the whole thing. Here's a taste:

For Atsushi Nakanishi, jobless since Christmas, home is a cubicle barely bigger than a coffin -- one of dozens of berths stacked two units high in one of central Tokyo's decrepit "capsule" hotels.

"It's just a place to crawl into and sleep," he said, rolling his neck and stroking his black suit -- one of just two he owns after discarding the rest of his wardrobe for lack of space. "You get used to it."

When Capsule Hotel Shinjuku 510 opened nearly two decades ago, Japan was just beginning to pull back from its bubble economy, and the hotel's tiny plastic cubicles offered a night's refuge to salarymen who had missed the last train home.

Now, Hotel Shinjuku 510's capsules, no larger than 6 1/2 feet long by 5 feet wide, and not tall enough to stand up in, have become an affordable option for some people with nowhere else to go as Japan endures its worst recession since World War II.

I suppose there was once something vaguely appealing about these "capsule" hotels. For a night or two, they offered a fairly cheap place to sleep, if little else, for busy people in a busy city. There was something simply, well, Japanese about them. (You may even remember the Seinfeld episode in which three Japanese tourists sleep in, and get stuck in, a chest of drawers in Kramer's apartment. Somehow, it was thought, the Japanese were used to such tight spaces.)

But now? Well, there doesn't seem to be anything even remotely appealing, let alone charming, about them. It's one thing to sleep in a "capsule" when times are good, after all, but when times are bad, as they are now, with the economy about as decrepit as they are? Not so much, now that they've become home, as opposed to a place to get a bit of rest, for so many who have been "forced from their company-sponsored housing or unable to make rent" as a result of the economic crisis. And these "capsules" aren't exactly nice:

The rent is surprisingly high for such a small space: 59,000 yen a month, or about $640, for an upper bunk. But with no upfront deposit or extra utility charges, and basic amenities like fresh linens and free use of a communal bath and sauna, the cost is far less than renting an apartment in Tokyo, Mr. Nakanishi says.

Still, it is a bleak world where deep sleep is rare. The capsules do not have doors, only screens that pull down. Every bump of the shoulder on the plastic walls, every muffled cough, echoes loudly through the rows.

Each capsule is furnished only with a light, a small TV with earphones, coat hooks, a thin blanket and a hard pillow of rice husks.

Most possessions, from shirts to shaving cream, must be kept in lockers. There is a common room with old couches, a dining area and rows of sinks. Cigarette smoke is everywhere, as are security cameras. But the hotel staff does its best to put guests at ease: "Welcome home," employees say at the entrance.

Some home, eh? Now that's an uncivilized life, a darker, bleaker side of one of the world's richest countries, with one of the world's most beautiful cultures.

These pretzels are making me thirsty!

By Michael J.W. Stickings

I love Seinfeld, to a degree that is perhaps unhealthy, and for that reason alone I'll always have a soft spot for Jerry Seinfeld himself -- even if I don't find him to be all that funny, outside of the show, even if he hasn't done anything worthy of much note other than the show, other than perhaps the amusing Bee Movie, and even if he often comes across as an arrogant prick.

But this... this is a bad, bad idea:

Jerry Seinfeld is returning to NBC as producer of a comic reality series where celebrities and a referee try to help squabbling couples make peace.

Really? Do we need this? Is this the best the great Jerry Seinfeld can come up with? I don't expect Seinfeld II -- it was a near-perfect show that can't be repeated, with an amazing confluence of factors coming together at one time and for only one time, the right vehicle for all four leads. But maybe something other than yet another stupid reality show that undoubtedly won't be all that funny. (Hey... marital discord. That's hilarious!)

Please, Jerry, you've already been the master of your domain. Don't mess it up.

Bizarro World

By Creature

Sam Stein:

In a gloomy segment about the financial sector on ABC'S This Week, two self-avowed fiscal conservatives said that the U.S. Government should at least consider nationalizing the country's banking system as a means of moving beyond the current lending crisis.

The conservatives were Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-SC) and Peter King (D-NY). I'm not sure what this means, beyond the end of the world as I've known it, but I do wonder which one is bizarro Kramer and which one is bizarro George.