Femme Fatale

I just finished reading most of the collected works of Junichiro Tanizaki. He was a Japanese writer in the twenties and thirties who wrote extremely decadent novels in a very old-fashioned style.

I happened upon his books completely by accident: On my way back from therapy I always take the 38 Geary down to Fillmore where I then switch to the 22. The Japantown pagoda is right at this intersection and whenever I have the time and the werewithal to stave off my hunger until 5:30 (when I get out of therapy) I make a stop there. Within the Japan Center mall treasures abound. What's so great about the whole mall is the way that it houses all of the dizzingly disparate elements of Japanese culture. I always go to the Kinokuniya stationery store to stock up on Afro ken stickers and beautful writing paper. There's also the serene little incense store on the bridge which has a million different types of subtle and distinct aromas, including spring bamboo, and plum blossom. There's the creepy store that sells cds and posters of nymphy/weirdo Japanese teen pop stars, the cultured pearl store, gorgeous orchid shop, the touristy get-your-name in Japanese characters trap, the weird little drugstore with all the mini sugar-colored objects, the very intimidating vintage kimono store, a vending machine with tapioca drinks, those little photo sticker booths, cheap bamboo- and paper-themed furniture stores, expensive hair salons with pearlescent 80's decor, and much more that my Western eye can't translate. After thorough browsing in the Kinokuniya bookstore, I always end up in the food court. There's a transition that happends when you walk into this area. The smoky incense aroma in the air is replaced by a salty, fish sauce smell. The hallway gets narrow and dim. There are all manner of laquered and dark woody restaurants ranging from Beni-hana to my personal favorite Mifune. They all have the amazingly life-like displays of shiny plastic food that is so oddly surreal and fascinating in their front windows.