Symphony of destruction

Tokyo is one big construction-destruction zone. You're always within about 100 meters of a work site where buildings are going up or coming down. Dump trucks come and go, pedestrian traffic is carefully guided by elderly Japanese men in hard hats, and the sound of jackhammers fills the air. This scene is repeated in every neighborhood of the endless capital. The workers remind me of the industrious little Doozers from Jim Henson's puppet TV series Fraggle Rock, who lived simply to build things.

One reason for this incessant construction the fact that buildings in Japan are seen as disposable commodities with a lifespan of around twenty years only. To quote author Donald Richie quoting Italo Calvino, it's as if Tokyo is always being built so that it can never be destroyed. It is in a state of eternal unfinishedness.

A few years back, some of these unsung workmen smashed their way into the limelight. A small Yokohama demolition company called Nihon Break Kogyo had an unexpected hit single on its hands when its corporate anthem (many firms in Japan have such) was picked up by a TV Asahi variety show. Recorded by a company demolition worker and musician who calls himself Manzo, the rocking tune sings the praises of the firm as well as the glorious nature of pounding things to bits in general to make room for new homes, shops, pachinko parlors, etc. The ditty, which the company hoped would help burnish the dirty image associated with its line of business, became so popular that karaoke and cellphone ring tone versions were made. A silly video, with Manzo strumming his guitar onsite, can be seen here.

So what did Manzo put on the cover of the song's CD to symbolize the heroic nature of demolition work? A humanoid robot, of course, floating in space a la Mobile Suit Gundam. It's a beautiful thing.

Atomic toys last all summer long

One of my all-time favorite Japanese robots is Atom, also known as Astro Boy. Created by comic genius Osamu Tezuka in 1951, Atom became enormously popular through a 1960s anime TV series and remains an icon of how Japanese regard robots as friends instead of foes.

Atom is special for several reasons. He has seven amazing powers, such as 100,000 horsepower strength and the ability to fly at Mach 5. He was also the first robot with a soul, a distinction that earned him a spot in the real-life Robot Hall of Fame at Carnegie Mellon University's School of Computer Science.

But Atom also longed to become human, and was greatest in his role bridging the gap between humans and robots. Attempting to overcome their mutual prejudice in Tezuka's futuristic tales, he was a heroic ambassador for peace powered by atomic energy. As science fiction author and critic Hideaki Sena writes, part of Atom's huge legacy in Japan was that robot stories became "interfaces between culture and science."

That's why robots remain so popular today here. Nearly sixty years after Tezuka's boundless imagination gave birth to him, Atom can still be found everywhere in Japan as toys, in new animated series and in other forms. The theme for the original 1960s TV show plays every time a train pulls in to bustling Takadanobaba Station on the JR Yamanote line in central Tokyo; in the stories, Takadanobaba is where Atom came to life in a laboratory. Atom also turns up in unexpected places like this noodle shop window in rural Ome, western Tokyo, where a vintage toy (above) offers a warm, nostalgic welcome to patrons intent on tucking into a bowl of stringy soba noodles. Atom, here's slurping at you, kid.

Meet my robot twin, Geminoid

Why is this man smiling?

Because he has a new robot twin who'll work at the office while he relaxes at home. I knew humanoid robots would find a practical use.

ATR Intelligent Robotics and Communication Laboratories visiting roboticist Hiroshi Ishiguro (above left -- er, right) unveiled his latest android sensation today, Geminoid, in Kansai Science City. It's a lifesized, very lifelike machine that was created from actuators, metal and silicone molds cast from the Osaka University engineering professor's body.

Read my Wired News article on it here.

Ishiguro has developed remote-control technology for the android so he can operate it from wherever he likes, saving him time wasted on commuting. The system incorporates posture and lip tracking, replicating his movements. His doppelganger also has its own autonomous motion programs, producing little shoulder, finger and foot twitches that add to its amazing verisimilitude.

Geminoid was developed to conduct research into telepresence using androids, a concept Ishiguro terms sonzai-kan (feeling one's presence). He also sees it as a way to get around the current limitations of AI in robots.

I, however, see mass production of Geminoid eliminating commutes, traffic jams, road rage, high oil prices, global warming, and, best of all, meetings with bosses. Ishiguro may have just saved the world.

Catwalk killer

Fashion models, you are hereby superannuated.

Robot creator Tomotaka Takahashi's FT droid, mentioned in an earlier post, has shown she can strut her stuff better than any DNA-based lifeform. Check out the video.

Meanwhile, Osaka-based Robot Laboratory recently posted some pics of Team Osaka and its Vision Tryz soccer bot in Germany.

Pilgrimage to Asimo's birthplace

Wacko? Wako.

In my humble calling as an itinerant robot scrivener, fortune happened to take me to ground zero of the bright and shiny humanoid future that awaits us all: Wako City, Saitama Prefecture. This unassuming satellite burg in Tokyo-synchronous orbit, slated to become Mechatronics Mecca in said future, is of course the birthplace of Honda's Advanced Step in Innovative Mobility, aka Asimo.









The world uberbot became operational at the massive Honda Automobile R&D Center site in Wako in 2000. Doubtless Asimo will one day wax nostalgic about this just like HAL did. And not, one hopes, while losing its mind: "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am a HAL 9000 computer. I became operational at the HAL plant in Urbana, Illinois on the 12th of January, 1992. My instructor was Mr. Langley, and he taught me to sing a song."

Asimo doesn't sing, but cuts rug with a mean hula dance. It now lives, learns and grows across town at the spanking new Honda Wako Building (above). When I visited for a meeting, I was hoping it would greet me like in this company video. But they still have human receptionists. Imagine! In fact, I didn't see hide nor hair of the bot anywhere in the ultramodern steel-frame complex. Perhaps it had better things to do, like run the company. Leaving, though, I got lost in the sprawling grounds and asked a gardener bent over by a tree for the way out. "Straight ahead and turn right," was the response. Then he turned to look at me. He had no face, only a black visor.

Whether or not this really happened, I was shocked to see that Wako hasn't capitalized on its robotic fame. I expected a bronze statue of Asimo outside the train station, a la Tora-san in Shibamata, perhaps towering 100 meters into the sky with an upraised fist. But no, an underwhelming clock was the only feature among the usual detritus of pachinko parlors and ferroconcrete manshon. One day, Asimo will remedy this.