O先生によるエナメル紹介

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うっかりカツカツやって来て、うっかり居ない。( By O.) |
2026/03/21
2026/03/20
デザイン・メッセージ / Design Message
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| 台所の布製カレンダー |
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You cut off each month with scissors, and it’s really starting to look great. I took this photo with the soft white light of early spring, just before the cherry blossoms bloom in my town.
Why is it that when we see a design consisting only of fonts, English abbreviations, and numbers, we’re reminded of the pale green wings of a newly emerged butterfly, and feel filled with that sense of freshness?
“It looks stylish when written in English” used to be a phrase of derision long ago, but I believe there is intelligence and youthfulness in the design messages created by the combination of symbols and letters.
Could it be that young adults in their mid-career, seeking to maintain their youthfulness, are returning to school as auditors or pursuing academic studies they’ve always wanted to take at night because they instinctively know they can continue to be influenced by the “studying” (Study + ing) inherent in these design messages?
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Since I like strong coffee, I prefer a slightly more casual setting where I can step outside a bit, let the sounds of the city blend in, and enjoy my coffee and everyday life together in the seasonal breeze.
To recreate that feeling indoors, I suppose I could just listen to hip-hop, R&B, jazz, or modern jazz, but this Apple Music playlist seems to take the opposite approach.
If coffee is a daily companion and a constant source of strength, I believe there is great value in inviting the Classic style—along with the coffee itself—into your home to dispel the misconception that the Classic is reserved solely for the high life, allowing you to unwind and enjoy a moment of respite.
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I remember the movie title *A Room with a View*, but I’ve never seen it.
I hope it’s a gentle drama filled with nothing but intellectual curiosity.
This is the view from someone’s room somewhere.
It’s a secret just between you and me.
That’s all for the design message.
The Stranger / The Rover
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I think I’m always Foreigner.
Billy Joel grew up in downtown New York; he was a troublemaker back in the day but turned his life around spectacularly to become a Manhattan legend and a rock star.
I vaguely recall that he eventually came to be known by the nickname “BOSS” among those who respected him.
Nowadays, Bruce Springsteen is called “The Boss,” but when Bruce Springsteen first started being called “The Boss,” Billy Joel—who knew that Bruce was also a downtown survivor—said, “I’ll gladly stop being called ‘The Boss.’”
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I read an article saying that Billy Joel is a true-blue New Yorker.
When I learned that, I thought that while there are terms like “Tokyoite” and “Baliite,” a true New Yorker wouldn’t allow it.
Somehow, I don’t want to be called that.
We’re all just individuals in the city.
I felt like I might say something like that, and on that morning when I first wore sneakers with a tight skirt and sheer stockings, I was a little anxious, wondering, “Will they understand?”
I think I’m always Foreigner.
Even though I made the excuse, “I have to run today, so I’m not wearing heels,” the strangers who just repeated “Department store is better, department store is better, department store is better” with unsmiling eyes—while I casually wore a 1,000-yen outfit—were the same ones who, when I said “KENZO” the moment they asked “What’s that?” earlier, suddenly replied “That’s nice” and were met with silence from me.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
In the cafeteria, someone said, “Did you see that girl? She’s cutting back on her food budget to buy brand-name stuff at full price.”
I’ve already forgotten what I replied to that gossip that dragged me into it, but as I walked through that awkward silence—wondering, “What should I say?”—someone finally complimented me in a slightly low voice, “You look like a New Yorker.” So I guess I became a New Yorker that day.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I don’t know much about Billy Joel, but when I was in elementary school and said, “I want to learn about foreign music,” someone recommended “Nylon Curtain.”
Later, when I wanted to gather information on Billy Joel and started to say, “Billy Joel…,” people would usually interrupt with, “Oh, that’s cool,” “Oh, Billy Joel, huh?” and the conversation would immediately change.
Just before I started to suspect that maybe nobody actually knew him, people started telling me—as someone who loves “The Stranger”—the shocking news that Billy Joel hates “The Stranger.”
Billy Joel hates “The Stranger,” but since it was a hit, he reluctantly included it on the album.
Come to think of it, no matter how old they got, every time anyone played *The Stranger*, as soon as the whistling part of the intro finished, they’d say in a rush: “I hear Billy Joel hates this, but I still think this song is great.”
Then, one evening in early spring 2026, while listening to Billy Joel on Apple Music, I suddenly plucked up the courage to ask, “Can I listen to *The Stranger*?”
“...Huh? Sure.”
As soon as that intro finished playing, I felt incredibly sad, but I said, “I heard Billy Joel hates this song. He said he included it on the album reluctantly because it’s popular even though he hates it.”
“…… Why do musicians say things like… ‘No, I’m just kidding’ about their own massive hits?”
I think I’m always Foreigner.
“Even the record store clerk said, ‘Billy Joel loves this song. He still sings it all the time. That’s a lie.’”
How did it come to this?
Even though nobody actually listens to Billy Joel, do people talk about him as if he’s a must-know musician?
Come to think of it, the first clerk I spoke to said, “I like ‘Nylon Curtain.’”
And why is it that after the intro to “The Stranger” ends, we listen with our heads slightly bowed—feeling guilty toward Billy Joel and all his fans worldwide—while muttering under our breath that we supposedly hate “The Stranger” but actually love it?
I think I’m always Foreigner.
When people say, “You don’t know Western music,” why can’t I just snap back at them?
Major global hits are global hits precisely because they’ve reached so many ears and touched so many hearts, so it’s perfectly fine to like them.
The asphalt, freshly laid in the dead of night, glitters. Since each of those glimmers is a global hit, it’s only natural to love them.
Japan, as a country, didn’t have much interaction with the rest of the world until fairly recently.
As a nation, I think it has a long history. After all, it’s been around for about 2,686 years.
But everyone seems to harbor a sense of reserve, thinking, “Don’t we know very little about the outside world?”
It’s the same with music.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I’ll always hold onto that sense of hesitation.
People who like global hits from Western music tend to hang their heads a little, worried they’ll be seen as not really understanding music. Even on that sunny autumn day when I was a New Yorker for just one day, I had this idea that liking only major hits meant I didn’t actually like the artist—I just liked the songs that were popular.
Since I’m the type who listens to albums thoroughly, I often listened to major hits simply because I had other favorite songs on the same album.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
Since artists create songs, if the moment—when they were unconsciously seated at the piano by some greater force, creating a song that might only be written once in a lifetime—can be conveyed to the audience, it will remain a shared experience that stirs the soul.
That hat with the lovely silhouette—I still remember it—which I couldn’t identify unless I mentioned the big name that was synonymous with style.
That Donna Karan New York shirt I found again at a thrift store; I was so happy to feel the silk against my skin.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
What someone else thinks is good will inevitably resonate with you as something good too.
It’s fine if you don’t like it, but I’m afraid of being told I just don’t get it.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I never wanted to wear the same clothes as you all, and I hated those unremarkable clothes—just enlarged versions of what you’d find in the children’s section—that left no impression at all.
You must have been to New York.
She must have been to New York.
So when I showed up in that New York style—which had finally become standard enough to be imported to Japan—she said, “I get it,” from a little distance away, loud enough for everyone to hear.
I still haven’t been there.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
In my New York, New Yorkers are called “New Yorkers,” and they actually speak a New York dialect with a distinct accent.
There’s the subway there, and even though the area isn’t exactly safe, rappers who consider it a sacred place perform hip-hop dances on the platform, dedicating them to the street poets.
They say that no matter where you come from, you get used to New York right away.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
Billy Joel happily sings about “Strangers,” and both Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel are “BOSSes,” while Justin Bieber is the first to film a video of a little boy crying and saying, “You’re the ‘BOSS.’”
People who will never understand *Nine Stories*, no matter how much time passes.
As long as they’re drinking a Frozen Daiquiri, they act like they see the truth better than anyone else, claiming it’s a night to remember.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
At karaoke, comrades I barely know get hyped up over the latest hits, then don’t even exchange contact info afterward—and I mock them as musicians who don’t understand music.
They say that if you drink a can of beer, you’re just trying to act young, and if you go to a bar, they’ll tell you to “study first” and push down on a young person’s head.
It was probably a guy like that who convinced himself that Billy Joel hates “The Stranger” and shouted it from the rooftops in the media.
I bet you’re in New York right now, having made a rare reservation for French food tonight, and you’ll be heading home on the Go-Taku after the last train.
I’ll sit halfway up the stairs leading to Paris—a place you’ll never find in your lifetime—and keep gazing up at the Tokyo NightScape reflected on the asphalt.
2026/03/19
二口ガスコンロとステンレスで出来た青年 / A man made of a two-burner gas stove and stainless steel / 1 Cabin / Let's Taken GOOD DESIGN Our Life
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| 左:マッシャー / 中:茹で卵カッターとスパイスホルダー / 右:計量カップ / 3点共に貝印 |
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| Left: Masher / Middle: Hard-boiled egg slicer and spice holder / Right: Measuring cup / All three items by Kai |
I love the kitchen at night.
After dinner, amid the silence as the heat gradually fades, a faint green glow drifts through the night air, and I just gaze at it dreamily in the cool, quiet stillness.
My current kitchen is composed of the silver of stainless steel, the black of the gas stove, and the caramel-colored iron of the display shelf.
It’s not a high-design kitchen; it has a two-burner gas stove without a fish grill, and the cabinet doors are a pale gray.
When I stand here, I feel as though I’ve become the curly-haired, slightly rebellious guy from Headphone People.
He’s tall—even if he walks with his shoulders slightly hunched, he remains towering—an intimidating young man who looks like he belongs walking alone.
Lately, for some reason, I’ve been remembering a magazine—the only issue in a deep indigo and midnight blue design that my local convenience store ever stocked—which featured a stranger living as if it were the most natural thing in the world: “I make a bento every day.”
His bento—where he poured ketchup over the sausages while frying them, sprinkled them with chili powder, poured in beaten eggs to cook, and then piled fried chicken, rolled omelet, red hot chili sausages, and rice onto a bed of lettuce—is the only one that has left a strong impression on me.
For some reason, here I find myself making nothing but KEYAKI sandwiches, brewing more drip coffee than usual, and pairing it with either Merry Chocolate or Bitte, Seven & i’s Ishigaki Salt Chips or nuts—and I always end up drinking canned beer.
The man inside me seems to really like this.
I tried out Dolby Atmos, and even after listening to music for long periods, I no longer get that tingling sensation around my temples.
I’m glad I installed it based on Pro.O’s recommendation.
According to Google AI, Dolby Atmos is already being used for the audio in Netflix streaming movies.
On your iPhone, go to Settings > Apps > Music (under the “M” section), scroll down, and select “Dolby Atmos” > “Always On” to enable Dolby Atmos.
If you select “Auto,” you can play back in Dolby Atmos (and other Dolby audio formats) anytime as long as you're connected to compatible output devices such as AirPods, AirPods Pro, compatible headphones (like Beats), or Apple devices (like Apple TV).
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Hi,
It’s been a while.
How have you been?
Since I used to provide this kind of technical feedback myself, I asked Enamel to include detailed information this time.
I like Hi-Res Audio, but I like Dolby Atmos even more, so I recommend Dolby Atmos.
How are you all doing, Sunday Edition readers?
I’m doing well. I look forward to seeing you again someday. Let’s all do our best.
Prof.O.
**************
Netflix accepts PayPay, by the way.
That’s all from me, the young man made of a two-burner gas stove and stainless steel.
Translated with DeepL.com (free version)
2026/03/15
March Gift / Sunday edition / The Rover / Let's Taken GOOD DESIGN Our Life / Funny Gold : Suchmos
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| CANMAKE TOKYO Petit Palette Eyes 03 |
There are two reasons for White Day: one is the one you already know.
The other is the true reason for giving a return gift.
Personally, I hate the gloominess of people who even bring up the idea of “obligatory” gifts, so I’m firmly in the camp that never uses the term “obligatory chocolate.”
As soon as I start sensing that the season is approaching, I practically turn my head away whenever I hear the phrase “obligatory chocolate.”
So, when I think about what would be a hassle to receive, I figure saying something like, “Please share this with your family,” or “Since it’s Valentine’s Day, if you’d like,” would get the point across just fine.
And the return gift is for White Day.
It’s supposed to be an exchange of cheerfulness and freshness with no ulterior motives, so how on earth does that become harassment?
It’s just an exchange of gratitude, “Likes,” or “Very Likes.”
That’s the difficulty of it.
I don’t want anyone other than my partner worrying about my makeup, and if I have to return the favor outside of work, spending 1,000 yen on something like the CANMAKE TOKYO Petit Palette Eyes 03 would be a bit fun.
My lovely favorite things—romantic, beautiful, and tied with a ribbon—yet the wonderful sentiment I gave to someone I didn’t really care about in February has turned into cosmetics, and the strange conclusion that “it did get through to you after all” is tucked inside a small paper bag from the drugstore.
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I understood why he’d handed it to me so quickly once I noticed the way he was silently watching me without hiding his gaze, and felt the weight in my hand—how it sank slightly at first, then, as I got used to it, the brass’s heaviness faded away.
It means, “I trust you.”
When I said, “Thank you,” he looked unusually quiet and happy.
I heard later that among people who love music, bikers, fans of American culture, and guitarists—
among those young people, from seniors to juniors, from juniors to seniors, from friend to friend, and just before a crush turns into love—since a ring is too heavy, if the other person smokes, they give a Zippo.
There’s no promise in it.
It’s a sign that they trust each other as human beings.
It’s proof that their minds and hearts are accepted—that even though their bodies may look different, they stand on the same ground.
Sometime in the future, when I casually mentioned this to someone who’s stylish and well-versed in tough-guy culture, they were a little surprised, too.
Even though I gave a different gift, back then I was the one who was surprised, and now it’s that person who’s a little surprised.











