Recent Publications
The Softer Side

Artist: Tomoko Ikeda
Title: Pensive Traveler
Owner: moi

I'm a total fan of her work. I even made it to one of her Exhibitions in Ginza, Tokyo—I was the only dude who didn't speak Japanese (well, I speak some, but not enough). Check out her website. 


In 2009, she published a beautiful photographic book of her doll art collection, Scenery of Time.

DEBTOR NATION

National Debt 1960-2011

MY NEW BOOK....

How I lost my moorings in Tokyo. Read Chapters 1 & 2.

@Ronnie_Baker: Genuinely funny, entertaining & well written. Highly recommended.

@lothisoft: Great read, got very sad towards the end but what a fantastic finish. Are you writing a sequel?

Buy it at Amazon.com

 

 

Chapter 1 ♦ AIRMAIL FROM AFTERLIFE

1976

One rainy summer day, I packed my backpack and went to America. I was seventeen. I knew what I was doing: I was escaping from the debacle at home. And I was looking for something. For what exactly, I didn’t know, but I’d go look for it in America. There, the heat burned in my nostrils. Lawns were brown. Cars were big and air-conditioned. Girls went gaga over my accent. Guys thought I was cool. And I fell in love with it all.
          Three years later, I was paying my way through college in Texas when the notion of home, distant and convoluted as it had become, blew up with gratuitous violence. A Boeing had crashed into a mountain in Turkey, killing all 155 people aboard. I heard about it on the radio. But I didn’t connect the dots.
          A few days later, I found a message from the operator in my campus PO Box. Telegram, call Western Union, it said. I called from one of the pay phones. My heart was pounding in my temples, and I had trouble hearing the lady on the other end.
          “I’d read it to you,” she said. “But it’s in German. I think you better come by and get it.”
          “I’m fixing to go to work. Can’t you try to read it to me?”
          “Oh dear.”
          “Is it long?”
          “Two lines.”
          “Can you spell it?”
          “Well, I guess I could. Are you ready?”
          I pulled out a notepad and pen. “Ready,” I said, though I knew that I wasn’t ready, that I’d never be ready for whatever she was about to spell.
          “E-L-T-E-R-N new word,” she said, “A-M new word M-O-N-T-A-G new word M-I-T new word F-L-U-G-Z-E-U-G new word I-N new word D-E-R new word T-U-R-K-E-I—”
          “Stop! Please.” I couldn’t write anymore. Parents on Monday with plane in Turkey.... German sentences, even in abbreviated telegram style, had the main verb at the end, but I didn’t want to hear the main verb, didn’t want to hear it spelled out letter by torturous letter. “Thank you. That’s enough.”
          I’d escaped the debacle at home and had gone as far away as possible. But this wasn’t what I’d had in mind. I stood there in a daze, brain deadlocked, numb, clutching the receiver, drowning in abysmal emotions.
          Then I went to work. It was just a part-time job, but now I needed the money more than ever. Afterward, I drove to the Western Union office and picked up the yellow slip of paper with twelve lines of all-caps alphanumeric gibberish and two lines of readable text. It was from my sister, sent from the town where she was staying with friends. But it didn’t include their phone number. And my brother was on vacation somewhere. So there was no way to reach him either.

Next....

TESTOSTERONE PIT, the novel

Wolf Richter

Chapter 1    Circle Jerk

It was Saturday, the biggest day of the week, and everyone was working bell to bell, over forty salesmen, though Ferronickel didn’t know exactly how many he had because some hadn’t shown up and might have started selling cars some other place, and because he’d hired a bunch of new guys an hour ago.

“It’s a beautiful day,” he sang in a basso profundo voice as he marched across the showroom in his asymmetric gait. He was the general sales manager at the Ford Superstore. His Tabasco Sauce tie was loosened, his collar unbuttoned. His gut that hung over his belt strained his shirt. He had puffy eyes and was full of mean energy, ready to explode, ready to force things to happen. He blew out the door, came to a halt on the porch that surrounded the showroom on three sides, and lit a cigarette.

Al Millikin, one of his four sales managers and perhaps the best closer in town, was watching Mad Boxer work a customer on the truck lot. Potential deal.

“Why can’t he bring that guy inside and write him up?” Ferronickel said.

“He ought to tell him we got free pussy on the showroom,” Millikin said.

“Don’t give me any ideas for our next live remote.”

“Come to think of it, that would be a hell of a lot more effective than the classical rock-and-roll shit we’ve been doing.”

“For our male customers.”

“We could alternate. Free pussy one day, free Godiva chocolates the next. We’d have both ends of the spectrum covered.”

“You’re a fucking Einstein, Millikin.”

Reginald Pierce, another sales manager, a big guy with a shortish Afro, was jumpy and his eyes darted about. He fretted about Whacker Packer, Hackman Jones, JoAnn Delouche, and several other salesmen who’d formed a dope ring by the plate-glass window. If left alone, they’d make up rumors, complain about dealership coffee, and infect each other with morale problems. He singled out a young guy.

“Freddie T, are you going to participate in a circle jerk?” he growled. They called him Freddie T because of his unpronounceable Greek last name. “Or are you going to sell something?”

It startled them; they’d forgotten all about selling. And they drifted apart.

Lou Massago gesticulated on the phone in one of the closing booths. He wore a white button-down shirt, a red and blue tie, slacks, and ostrich-skin boots. A scar curved upward from the right corner of his mouth, giving him a lopsided grin even when he was serious. His eyes were set close together and peered out from under his bushy eyebrows with ferocious intensity. But he had a soft voice when he wanted to, and now he wanted to because he was talking to a customer about a 15-passenger van that had come out of the rental fleet. There were ten of them. They were scratched and dented and had too many miles on them, and they were overpriced, and no one could sell them, but he was king of sales, and if he could sell them, it would prove he could sell anything.

He hated working the phone. He needed his customers in front of him, needed to stare into the whites of their eyes. But no one had sold any of those vans yet, and to prove he was king of sales and could sell anything, he’d decided to sell them all. Besides, the Saturday rush hadn’t begun yet, and calling old customers was more productive than standing around waiting for something to happen.

Next....

« How Long Can Japan Play The Endgame? | Main | Cutting The Deficit: A Bipartisan Joke »
Tuesday
Sep202011

US Housing Hangover Or 20-Year Japanese Nightmare

In its schizophrenic manner, the media across the country lamented the housing-starts numbers, which were ugly: 571,000 annualized in August, down 5% from July, down 5.8% from August 2010, and down 75% from its peak of 2.3 million in January 2006 (Census Bureau, PDF). But for the housing market to heal, that number should be near zero for years.

19 million vacant units, that's the problem (Census Bureau, PDF). While some people dispute that number, everyone agrees that the inventory of vacant units is huge. Whether it's 19 million or 12 million doesn't change the problem. It only changes the duration of the healing process. This is the hangover from the housing bubble when the industry built millions of units for speculators who never had any intention of living there. And now, no one lives there.

Housing is mostly zero sum: If I rent or buy something and move into that property, I also have to move out of the property I'm in. Hence, no net impact on the inventory of vacant homes. When people die, it increases the inventory of vacant homes. Household creation has the opposite effect. Yet, household creation has declined over the last few years and was even negative for a while, a new phenomenon in the U.S. that sociologists and economists are still wringing their hands over.

An optimistic scenario: Say, the industry is building 600,000 homes a year, household creation perks up to 1,000,000 a year, while 400,000 homes become vacant due to death, then things are in balance, and the inventory of maybe 10 - 18 million vacant homes will stay with us until termites eat it up. Which, come to think of it.... But if household creation doesn't reach those levels, or if home construction ticks up, well then, good luck.

Stop building—that's the solution to the housing market, other than termites and fires. But that's not going to happen. Instead, home construction will remain in the doldrums, with irrelevant ups and downs, where each new home being built will extend the suffering of current homeowners as home prices will drift lower for years to come.

Housing bubbles cause decades of pain. In Japan, it burst in 1990, and land prices are still declining—though, like in the US, they've had minor and temporary upticks that gave everyone a lot of false hope.

Culturally, the Japanese are attached to land, not houses. The building is usually a "one-generation house," designed to last 30 years and be torn down by the next generation. Hence, when the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport, and Tourism released its numbers on September 20, it reported on land prices (Nikkei, article in English). Nationwide, year over year, they were down 3.4%, the 20th year of straight declines, with residential land prices down 3.2% and commercial land prices down 4%. In 2010, land prices were down 3.7%.

The earthquake and tsunami added downward pressure in areas it affected, and in the most devastated regions, sales simply stopped. But even in western Japan, which was not affected by the disaster, the declines continued, despite additional tax breaks put in place last year and despite super-low mortgage rates. And even Yakuza, who're heavily invested in the construction trade, are complaining.

To read more: Yakuza: 'We Have To Evolve Our Business Model'

Reader Comments (1)

Any idea why the yen was so low for about 6 months in 2006/07 - looking at the FX charts it was way lower than at any other time ever.

I was thinking of buying a house in japan but a bit put off by the fact that the yen is about 20% above the highs of 5 years ago - however if the stats in this article are accurate and extrapolate back 5 years at similar rate of 3.5% year over year - then that would be a 17.5% decline in property price - so about offsetting the FX gain - so i guess now is as good a time as any in the past - though i suppose property will continue down at 3.5% a year while FX may at some time regain the JPY lows of 2006/07?
February 21, 2012 | Unregistered CommenterJapan Fan

PostPost a New Comment

Enter your information below to add a new comment.
Author Email (optional):
Author URL (optional):
Post:
 
All HTML will be escaped. Hyperlinks will be created for URLs automatically.