Savoring interpretations of the basic outdoor bench in Tokyo’s Ebisu neighborhood:

Here’s a short video clip showing a child-friendly train car in Tokyo. It’s too good to be true, especially in a country where pressure to keep public areas quiet — including train cars — is tremendous.

For me, the most striking things about Tokyo were its silence and its cleanliness. It is all the more noticeable when you come from Israel, where, sadly, love of the land is not always demonstrated by litter control.

In Tokyo, a city of over 12,000,000 residents (not counting workers who come in daily), I saw one — ONE — piece of litter in the street during a 10-day visit. And that was an empty beer can blowing down the street in a typhoon. It’s refreshing and remarkable, although I’m sure there’s a price to pay, as there is in any very clean environment.

[Amusing: en route to a meeting, we collected a granola bar wrapper which we had to carry for 15 minutes through Tokyo Station before finding a trash bin. So very, very clean, and yet so few places to dispose of litter!]

More great pictures of the children’s train at Deputy Dog.

Reuters is reporting on a British fad for pet costumes.

I’ve noticed that the Japanese go for this in a big way. This October in Shinagawa, I passed a storefront selling doggy and kitty costumes. A whole store. I wanted to think that it was just the influence of the imminence of Halloween celebration, but further evidence suggested otherwise.

Lots of pups wear sweaters and jackets in Tokyo. I make allowances for the fact that they are for the most part small, scrawny, and short-haired.

Seeing dogs taken for walks in doggy strollers stopped me in my tracks (the first time). Aside from the expense (and how ridiculous their owners look), doesn’t a doggy stroller defeat the purpose of taking the dog for a walk?

Seen in the Yebisu Garden Place mall: a cat in a sweater and rhumba pants (panties with ruffles on the rear). Wearing a Minnie Mouse ears headband. Strapped onto a tricycle, which was pulled on a leash by her proud owner. I could not make this up. I felt embarrassed for the cat.

Felines have dignity. Even dogs do.

Watching my son play his new Nintendo DS (purchased in the electronic wonderland of Akihabara), I’m struck by two exceedingly important differences between his gaming experience and my own as a kid. I’m from the original video game generation: Pong, Commodore 64, Pac-Man, and Q*bert.

First major difference: Not feeding quarters into the machine. Even now, most young kids would find a couple of dollars a lot to spend just to play a game. 25 years ago, popping $3 in quarters was a substantial amount of money — a whole week’s generous allowance, if you had an allowance. Arcade games showed up not only in arcades, but in lobbies and other public spaces, almost like vending machines. They were a way to gather a crowd around you, or to “kill” some time.

Which kid today has paid for turns to play a computer game? We have games in our phones (parents and kids), we have $2 handheld counterfeit Tetris games, we have home gaming consoles. Surely this has changed the game experience by reducing tension and encouraging risk-taking. When it doesn’t empty your wallet, getting out is no big deal: you just start over again.

The second major difference that strikes me is the Pause button. I can’t remember ever having the ability to pause Frogger or Space Invaders (even the handheld ones) so that I could scratch an itch, listen to my mother, or answer the phone. The impact is similar to the impact of the personally-owned game: reduced tension, and increased risk-taking.

Some other memories associated with those early years (4th-6th grade, about 1980-1983):

• The first time I played Pong. Pong brought out sudden, hidden reserves of aggressiveness, competitiveness, the need to win and win against someone else. Those unexpected visceral responses to the simplest possible game are proof, if any were needed, that graphics are not the essential driver in gaming experience. (If you’re still not convinced, compare Wii sales with those of the XBox or Playstation3.)

• My father brought me a handheld Donkey Kong from Japan (from Akihabara, for all I know) sometime around 1981 — well before any of the other kids in school had anything like it. It wasn’t so different in form factor from the DS of today. I had more fun with that Donkey Kong that with any game I’ve played since. Later on I had a mini arcade-shaped Frogger. The greatest thing about that Frogger was that the opening jingle was the tune of Maigono — the only Japanese children’s song that I retained from my early years.

• Then there was the game on our Kaypro II (one of the first portable computers ever sold, if you call putting a handle on a 30 lb. suitcase portable). The game was sort of a Donkey Kong knock-off, with graphics set in ASCII characters. Eating dollar signs gave you bonus points, the surfaces were made of dashes and “o”s, and so on. As I recall, you controlled your character with the arrow keys, and jumped using the space bar. I spent a surprising amount of time playing with what looked like a corrupt spreadsheet.

• Video Arcades. There was such an electric sense of excitement when you went into an arcade, very much like the feeling of walking into a casino in Vegas. The dark room, the bright flashing lights, the noise, the intensity of the players. The tension was energizing, but also overstimulating. Interestingly, I also remember taking a deep breath of relief when I walked out of the arcade. I don’t know if I was reacting to the intensity, the pressure (to get the most out of each quarter), or the disappointment of losing (you always do, after all).

One of my classmates had a videogame birthday party. His mom took us all to the arcade and gave us each a stack of quarters to play with. It was so cool and so hip that no-one mentioned that it wasn’t a great party. It was 10 kids each doing their own thing, but we said it was great, because it was such a cool thing to do, and in 6th grade, cool counts even more than fun.

• Arcade games. Today’s handhelds give a more controlled gameplay, but you don’t need get to slam the joystick around. Buttons are fun, and home consoles often have joystick controls, but nothing matches the primal satisfaction of really crashing an arcade joystick against the counterweight of a huge gaming machine.

• The summer between 5th and 6th grades was the prime of my gaming experiences (I retired early from the field of combat). When I think of Ms. Pac-Man, I call up also: Eye of the Tiger (theme song from Rocky IV), the Sand and Sea Club, riding around in the big camp van, and playing tennis. I suddenly feel the warm sand between my toes, the heat of sunburned cheeks, the saltiness of the ocean and the potato chips. My memories of pinball are not nearly so powerful.