FROM THE HORSE'S MOUTH

"how horrible it is when crucial moments in our lives can only be expressed in words so banal that they in turn, make the moments themselves banal."

you were warned.

(and that comma is [sic].)

i read that passage of the traveler trying finally to finish that book at a cafe somewhere between sendagaya and yoyogi, and, well, to be sure. i'd wanted to sit down for a glass of wine in the early afternoon at a cafe called bowls on the outskirts of shinjuku ni-chome and on the road that runs east-west along the northern edge of the shinjuku imperial gardens. unfortunately, bowls was full when i arrived (it was, after all, a saturday afternoon), but the handwritten chalkboard menu outside didn't make any indication of wine on offer, so i let myself move on without too much regret. i didn't want to walk much further without sitting down to finish a certain letter, but i walked on anyway.

to ochanomizu, i thought. i haven't spent much time in central tokyo, and i remembered having once been to an older establishment under a railway or highway bridge that served denki buran (electric brandy), a spirit that originated in tokyo during the meiji period (1869~1914) when alcoholic drinks in japan weren't yet on par with their european counterparts as far as alcohol content. (the mouthfeel of a higher proof spirit was compared to the sensation of an electrical current, and the drink was so named.) per my recollection, the place i had in mind served theirs mixed with beer, and although there's no comparison to make with the taste or service of that and a glass of wine, i was able to equate the two on the level of sitting down for experience.

however, once i passed the eastern edge of the gardens i was able to see the jinguu kyuujo, home of the yakult swallows (tokyo's lesser professional baseball team), and was seduced by nostalgia for an evening i spent cheering for the underdog in a box that my host father from high school maintains despite having never gone up to the capital since we were introduced eleven years ago. my warm memory was ravaged by the crowds under the ginkgo trees along the perimeter of the stadium: reality, as is necessary and appropriate, quickly gave the lie to the shallowness of nostalgia. those same crowds should also have been sufficient warning of what i'd find when i proceeded onto aoyama doori, into which the road that runs south along the stadium intersects at a perpendicular.

aoyama gives its name to one of tokyo's six elite universities, the university famous for producing models. that's no surprise when you know that aoyama is at the east end of omotesandou, home of the world's major fashion houses' tokyo flagship stores. the more finely curated stores are actually east of where omotesandou intersects aoyama doori, and i thought i still had the energy to head there and make my afternoon in the fitting rooms of comme des garçons. it turned out i didn't. this season's theme is color, and the inside of the store looked as fun as that sounds; but one snap of the camera at the doorway and i was done with the weekend shoppers as well as with all of my unwealthy tourist compatriots. issey miyake has three stores across the street (and a pop-up down the street opening on the 26th), and prada's five story bubbled glass phantasmagoria of shoes is next door. surely they'll all be less crowded on monday, and their staffs kinder to visitors with no intention to buy.

what a disaster. dear tom's shoes: if the stuff you're giving to those children in need is as painful to walk in as what they sell at nordstrom, i have to say that your mission might need a new guide. all of the food/drink establishments around omotesandou were either full, not right or, in the case of the south asian styled tea room that i decided i wouldn't have wanted to go to anyway, overpopulated with non-japanese that must have been either aging models or young advertising executives who gave me dubiously encouraging eyes when i passed by.

the new plan was to get me out of there, but the new plan was ironically more difficult the further away i got because it was executed on an increasingly aggravating empty stomach. get out of my way. (how can a city like this operate on people who move so lackadaisically?) oh yeah. h&m. congratulations portland, and that lanvin collabo comes out on the 23rd. this one (intersection of omotesandou and meiji doori) or the one in shibuya? that's a decision for tuesday morning.

tokyo can make you forget that there was ever a quiet moment in the world. and then it can also remind you how to relax. it's the difference between night and day -- though, for sure, it was now solidly dark -- being on or just off of omotesandou and walking a couple of hundred meters from harajuku station where omotesandou dead ends at the meiji shrine.

the cafe was only a ten minute walk away. it was splendid. tas yard. look it up if you're in the city. i had some food and my glass of wine, over which i was given pause in ordering because the place served coedo beer, a craft brew made in kawagoe near where i went to high school. there were a couple of young men sitting behind me to my right that seemed the epitome of tokyo creative style. i would have taken a photo if i could have shot them without getting any of this month's art exhibit (no pictures of that, understandably). but the cafe was just an overdue waylay, and besides, i wasn't there for long.

i had to race back to the apartment to change my shirt and grab a gift. i'd made my apologies for dinner and asked that i be allowed to join the party for desert. sweating, i had half an hour to get to the station, buy my ticket, ride three stops and find the restaurant. in my imagination, it was a formal affair, something that nearly made me spend the afternoon alone in my room with panic. really, though, for a ten year old's birthday? but maybe you can only think that once you're there and given the most gratifyingly warm welcome, a welcome that you'd should expect from friends -- near family -- that makes you think, "for shame..." at not having more graciously accepted the invitation to arrive earlier. when did looking good in pants come to mean being so guarded and mistrustful.

tuesday, it turns out, is a national holiday, so we'll have time to have lunch before the races start at three. then we'll bet and make a day of it. what an embarrassing relief. and what a pity to have to say so.