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May 21, 2005

Day Eight: The Mechanics of Desire

There’s acres of fake tan and miles of russet-blonde locks on the young women here in Osaka. It’s Japan’s second biggest city, and so much more besides. Compared to mild, tender-to-the-bite Kyoto (tailor-made to please tourists), Osaka seems insanely busy and madly crowded. I prefer it almost instantly.

In addition to the droves of Japanese ‘California girls’ and ‘American-style teens’ who congregate here, Osaka’s also known across Japan as a capital of basic, tasty eats, and of gluttony.

Octopus ball sellers abound and okonomayaki stands are everywhere. The entwined scents of shaved bonito and gooey mayo are heavy on the city’s breath.

In the central pedestrian malls that are at Osaka’s heart everybody’s chowing down on something salty and delicious, strolling about electrified by the city’s vibe.

But amidst the throng of consumers and the press of flesh, I start to feel disturbed. Alone.

In these malls and the plazas running off them, there are an unbelievable number of gaming arcades. Despite the flashing lights and gaudy posters and the near-hysteria each pumps out in its attempt to win your custom, on the inside they’re all the same. Blank-faced women sit in front of huge machines trying to buy themselves into existence, while grown men are mesmerised by plastic cabinets filled with mountains of identical plush toys.

These places are almost comical if you stop to think about it – after all, the huge plexiglass-domed machines that whirl and spin are filled to the gunnels with the same toys and chocolates that are available at any of the 50 convenience stores down the street, for just a fraction of what you'll pay here. Unlike the convenience stores, where the price is fixed and the goods are in your palm, games arcades rely on the assumption that you’re happy to pay them money on the off-chance that you’ll get a toy or a chocolate bar. Or maybe hit the jackpot.

If you lose, you’ll get nothing, but you’ll doubtless pay to play again.

There’s something about the thrill of the chase that these places tap into. It’s cunning, really, taking all the same junky plastic claptrap that’s being spruiked all over modern Japan, and placing it inside machines that may or may not give up their treasure to the punter. It adds an element of excitement that simply reaching out for something in the supermarket lacks.

It gives me the same heaviness in my stomach that I felt when we reached Las Vegas. When several people from our flight walked up the airbridge to exit the plane, and then sat straight down at the first poker machine they saw. Baggage forgotten, arrivals procedure irrelevant. All that mattered was sitting on that vinyl stool and being able to crank the handle of that alluring demon. Scenes just like this were my first and last views of LAS. People entranced, besotted, and empty-eyed.

I felt an inkling of this same discomfort on our first night in Fukuoka. I couldn’t shake the sense that, although there was something kooky and appealing and funny about the bank of vending machines on the hotel’s fifth floor (and more still in the foyer), and the pay-per-view porno channel guides next to the TV, there was also something a little scary. As if no space could be complete without trying to sell something to you. As though vending machines here do what mere human presence can't: lull you into buying things, whether they're needed or not, 24 hours a day.

I remember now what my friend had told me about the Tokyo love hotel he and his girlfriend stayed in overnight: once checked in to your room, you couldn't leave. Despite this – or perhaps because of it - there were vending machines locked in there with you, selling packet soup and dildos.

We thought it was funny at the time, but now it makes me speculate a bit more deeply about the mechanics of need and desire.

I feel uncomfortable all at once, wondering if that room was a kind of gaol and the vending machine a kind of keeper.

And when we leave Osaka ( ... Fukuoka, Kyoto, Hiroshima, Tokyo … ), the permanently lit-up faces of the vending machines smile out at us. Benign, unblinking, serene. On every street corner, in every back lane, on every station platform.

Posted by Tiffany on May 21, 2005 08:19 PM
Category: Japan
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