The bar I ran in Shimokitazawa was designed, built and of course, owned by the Furukawa’s, an architect/interior designer couple. The bar was part of an elaborate 3-story apartment building that housed their penthouse, five decently-sized 1LDKs on the second floor, and six 1Rs on the first floor behind the bar. A staircase from the bar led downstairs to the restroom and their design office and a sunken atrium with a classic Roman-style fountain. At least, Roman was what they told me when I was hired. The apartment building itself reminded me of something from Southern California rather than Southern Italy, but I really didn’t know shit about shit.

What I did know was that today was stifling hot and I was in Ginza to pick up a set of wine glasses from Holland. A friend of the Furukawa’s had ordered it for them, and had it delivered to his gallery in Ginza instead of the bar, which meant I had to trek halfway across town to pick it up.

The metal staircase that led to Gallery JJ was squeezed in an alley off a side street of a side street. It was wide enough for one person to walk up single file, and left just enough room for a person to squeeze past. In any other city it might simply have been the space between two buildings, but beyond the staircase, I could see the unlit signs of maybe five small "snack bars" and "pubs" with names like "Lily" and "Ayako" and one named "Paradise".

The alley was isolated from the main thoroughfares and the silence that resulted when you stepped into the alleyway was dramatic. The staircase clanged with each step announcing my arrival to the empty alley as I ascended. This JJ would have to know I was coming. From the street, the Gallery had a small sign in the dirty second-floor window that stretched the length of the building’s face, but behind the sign was a white panel that kept the inside hidden from view. The white tiles that covered the building’s wall were stained gray with city dust. I looked upwards toward the wooden door and past it at the narrow slit of blue sky beyond.

The door itself had a small window that revealed a short, dark hallway lit by another window at the opposite end. Several frames empty of canvas leaned against the wall in the center of the hallway blocking any sign of the Gallery’s actual entrance. The entire look of the building gave the impression of the door to make a loud squeak as I opened, but was greeted instead by a springy heaviness and had to kick the bottom with my feet to push it open. The door itself was battered at the bottom from what was probably years of kicking. As I stepped in, I could see another door beyond the empty frames.

"Irasshai!" replied the muffled female voice after my knock. I opened the door and was greeted by a wall of a bookcase filled with cardboard canisters of varying lengths. I leaned to look past the book case with one hand still holding the door slightly open. As I let it go, the spring at the top pushed it shut.

"Excuse me, I work for the Furukawa’s. I’m here to pick up some wine glasses."

"Oh right, come in. Sit down, please," said the voice. "I’m afraid JJ is out right now. He’s picking his daughter up from school. Apparently there was a suicide."

今日、本屋に行って「Times」「Newsweek」など英語の雑誌を立
ち読みした。インテルの最近引退した創立者がアメリカの医療システムを改善する発言やマイクロソフトの創立者であるビル･ゲイツの組織、クリントン元米国
大統領の組織の国際会議などお金持ちの人たちの第２人生についていくつかの記事が取り扱われた。

実は、土曜日の日経新聞に「日本人のいない『国際社会』」といおう記事があった。「クリントン・グローバル・イニシアチブ」という国際会議には
ローラ・ブッシュ大統領夫人、パウエル前国務長官、パキスタンの大統領、コロンビアの大統領、ビル・ゲイツ、ニュース・コーポレーション会長であるロバー
トマードック、グーグルの共同創業者らなど様々な政治家、企業家、NGOなど参加者は千人ほど出席した。コンセプトは政治家やNGOの問題と企業家の敷金
や発想力を合わせること。参加者は具体的な貢献活動を考え、会期中に提示することが条件。行動なしの人たちは参加者リストから外され、今年１５人も参加で
きなかったようです。日本からの参加者は、その記事によって一人、マネックス・ビーンズ・ホールディングスの松本大社長。なぜ日本人一人だけかその記事に
は正当な理由がなかった。湾岸戦争に１３０億ドルの費用負担をして国際的な評価を得なかった日本にはクリントン会議に参加するのは「危機的」だと。

世界を変えていく。母校であるブラウン大学にはそういう大学生は少なくなかったけど、二つの派に分かれた。経済学などビジネスが好きな学生たちと
何かの運動によく参加する学生たち。相互排他的に分かれたわけではないけれど、どちらの方が熱心だったと言えば、やはり運動派だと思う。今日、一人の友達
のことを思いだ明日。ビジネス派で、卒業後投資銀行に入り、２年後にビジネスコンサルタント。そしてスタンフォード大学のビジネススクールに２年間。今度
はNGOで管理職として勤めるそうです。

世界を変えていくには色々な力が必要。日本にない力は企業家の力だと、今週末強く思ってきた。１００年前JDロックフェラーやアンドリュー・カー
ネギーなどの大金持ちの実業者は生きている間に自分の財産を半分ほどいろんなチャリティーに貢献し、亡くなった後、その財産が大きいな慈善基金になった。
そういう歴史があるからこそアメリカには貢献する習慣や企業として創立された大きいなNGOなどがあると思う。

日本のお金持ちの人もいろいろ貢献していると思うが、その人たちの活動はまだ一般の人にインスピレーションを与えていない。ということは、貢献と
は会社の広報などとしてまだまだ普及されていない。でも、これからだね。タリーズ・コーヒーの絵本のプロジェクトやアフラックの癌研究への貢献など考えれ
ばいろんな例がある。

日本、今度のクリントン会議に参加できるように頑張れ！

Clinton Global Initiative (English)

I turned to the left and stepped onto the escalator on the right side so I began climbing the steps — an obligation by custom in this part of the country. Though most of the crowd was ahead of me, enough people stood behind me that I could feel the pressure of expectation prodding me forward. And besides, there was my watcher. I would not be rid of him, but I wanted as much distance between us as possible. I had neither need nor desire for confrontation.

I emerged from the subway tunnels and underground passageways of Ginza. Beside me as I reached street level was the Le Doutor Cafe, a sterilizing attempt by the nation’s largest franchise coffee chain to appeal to the district’s luxury. Across the street stood the symbol of Ginza, the Wako Clock Tower overlooking the main intersection and the elegance of the famed store display of the Wako Department Store. Visitors from across Japan would pause to photograph themselves in front of it, then walk on without ever stepping inside the store itself. That is, unless they didn’t know any better or were among the privileged few who could afford the wares inside. At least, this was my image of the establishment, never having set foot in it myself.

The sun was blazing above and I would rather have avoided it if I could. I often wondered how far one could walk through those subterranean thoroughfares without ever emerging into daylight. But the truth was, those endless passageways beneath Ginza’s streets were disorienting. I needed to be in the daylight, on street level, where landmarks and familiar stores could point me in the right direction. This unfortunately meant walking in the sun and summer heat though the shade of the district’s veins was much less oppressing. The clock tower told me that it was just past 3:30 pm. Only a few hours left till dusk.

Not finished, not close to finished, more like…just started and haven’t continued…but hopefully posting this will prod me in the right direction.

Untitled-1.1

Even after stepping into the cool space of the subway train, the heat stuck to my skin. Fans waving furiously in a desparate attempt to alleviate the feverish feeling only seemed to prevent the coolness from providing relief. A delicate balance between the fire and ice, but an uncomfortable one.

The closer to Ginza the train got, the more crowded it became. I could feel the coolness being overwhelmed by the heat of bodies jostled by the train; they bumped each other and into each other, and the stickiness of skin against skin was both nauseous and erotic. But I had boarded at the train’s departure point and had a seat to myself — the prime seat in fact, next to the door, and fifteen minutes in that coolness had chilled the layer of sweat on my forehead. Yet, at each sop, the door would open and a blast of the stifling summer air would remind me of where I had came from and to where I would return.

Fifteen minutes of coolness was all that was needed to alleviate the summer heat, though I could feel the dampness of my under shirt and my boxers plastered onto my ass. The Tokyo summer was in full blast and left no room for wasteful, unnecessary movement. I rose from my seat brushing against sweaty bodies in the train, and I disembarked burshing against sweaty bodies boarding it. Out the door I slipped, onto the platform, and thus began the trudge through a muck of bodies all heading toward the escalators and elevators and staircases. No time to waste, no efficiency lost, for the hot air would not allow it.

I could feel beads of sweat forming on the tip of my nose, behind my ears, on my forehead just below the hairline. The train sucking air from the station as it departed, drew hot air from the dark tunnels behind it creating a gust of hot, suffocating air. I could feel the eyes of my watcher against the side of my head, the right side. He was somewhere in the crowd, hidden in the waves, not circling like a shark for he was undoubtedly caught in the flow as I was, but shadowing me, observing, judging. The roar of the departing train died away as the rumble of an approaching train began.