Last Line Game

rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).

thanks for the tag @babblish ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

___〆(・∀・) this is from [checks notes] 3:33am in my Glow Worms notes section of Discord as a hypothetical / potential future scene.

For those who don't know, I tend to write scenes and chapters out of order, which is why some chapters come out sooner than others ^^;

ANYWAYS the premise of this is, Reigen and his dad having a conversation.

“They’re finding new ways to sell and profit off others, just click a button and the place you paid to leave grandma will glow! Think of her, and the LED light we placed under a translucent little plastic Buddha statue.” “I can’t say I approve of how impersonal that feels, but there is a growing issue in finding space for plots. And not everyone can afford a family shrine. Giving the grieving meaningful tasks helps the mourner, opening grief to a path towards healing.” “It’s business, it’s aaaall business, I know, I get that - I just. Why does it have to be so business driven? …I’m tired.” “I know…I know you are. It’s been recession after recession for younger generations.” “A lot of times you know what the real ghost in the room is? Back at my office I mean.” “No…what?” “Capitalism.Little old ladies, or people who can't afford plumbers, or handy men, or have someone check for a gas leak.” "Yet they pay you." "Yeah," he said bitterly, "they pay me." "Are you suggesting you shouldn't be paid for your work? That I shouldn't be paid?" "No…I just…" "Do you know what would happen if I didn't do my job? If people were left to their own devices in dealing with bodies? Between black markets and inappropriately attended bodies?" "Disease," said Reigen, having heard this speech since he could remember. Then, Reigen Senior changed something in his speech, "and what would happen if you didn't do your job?" Reigen shrugged, sitting in his sulk. "I imagine a lot of old ladies and people who can't afford plumbers or handy men end up having a lot of trouble as well." Reigen looked at his father.

Will I end up using this scene after cleaning it up etc? I have no idea. But remember kids, the real entity of horror, is always capitalism.

Tagging @reitziluz @mangatxt @sharkaroni and anyone who wishes to participate!

Multiplicity and what identification and representation means to Us

Madeline: I don’t remember there being many cool, attractive, and overall desirable but not fetishized (bye yellow fever) representations of Asian people in mainstream media while I was growing up in the early 2000s. The Asian media I did consume was introduced to me by my dad, so you can imagine the kind of outdated and endearingly weird characters I was exposed to as a kid. Think blind Japanese swordsman Zatoichi or humanoid child robot Astro Boy, both of which originated in Japan around the 60s. As for celebrities, I occasionally heard people talking about Lucy Liu or Jackie Chan, but only as defined by their stereotypical Asian-ness. My point is that this kind of cultural consumption fell into one of two categories: that of obscurity, which suggests that cultural objects are created by Asians for Asians (bringing to mind labels like “Weeb” for Western people who love anime), or that of hypervisibility grounded in stereotypical exoticism. You’d be hard pressed to find a film that passes the Asian Bechdel test.I didn’t discover K-pop until coming to college when I became curious about who my white friends were fawning over all the time. Since then, it’s been really neat to see how K-pop has become popularized as one of the many facets of America’s mainstream music and celebrity culture, especially when artists write and perform songs in Korean despite the majority of their audience lacking Korean language fluency. This suggests that something about the music is able to transcend language barriers and connect people despite their differences. Today it’s not uncommon to see Korean artists topping Billboard’s hot 100 hits, being interviewed on SNL, winning American music awards, gracing the cover of Teen Vogue, or being selected as the next brand ambassador for Western makeup brands like M.A.C. If you were to ask your average high school or college student if they know Blackpink, BTS, or EXO, they would probably be familiar with one of the groups whether or not they identify as Asian.What does this mean, then, for young Asian-Americans to grow up during a time when Asian celebrities are thought to be just as desirable as people like Timothée Chalamet, Zendaya, or Michael B. Jordan? What does it mean to see an Asian person named “Sexiest International Man Alive”, beating out long-time favorite European celebs? What does it mean for popularity to exist outside of the realm of the racialized minority and for it to build connections across minority cultures? Of course, fame can be toxic and horrible-- it is, at times superficial, materialistic, gendered, fetishized, and absolutely hyper-sexualized-- but I for one think it’s pretty damn cool to see people who look like me featured in mainstream American culture.I’ve found that throughout the semester, my understanding of Asian presence in America (American citizen or otherwise) has been deeply shaped by our discussions of identity politics and marginalization, another class I’m taking on intergenerational trauma, and my own identity as a Laotian-American woman. Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about the similarities between American proxy wars in Korea (The Forgotten War) and Laos (The Secret War), both of which involved US bombing of citizens in the name of halting communism. Taking this class has challenged me to reconceptualize how we make sense of mass atrocity in relation to a pan-Asian identity, especially when contending with how trauma and violence can act as a mechanism for cultural production, and I look forward to exploring this more in my thesis. 

Cyndi:  K-pop is always just the beginning. Enough in and of itself, any interest in the genre at all reinvigorates the consumer to become more engaged with the world in which it exists. Two years ago, I got into a big, but in hindsight pretty silly, argument with my mom when I started going to a Korean hair salon (because of my K-pop delulus / Jennie prints) instead of seeing Maggie, our Vietnamese hairdresser who I can usually only see twice a year on our bi-annual visits to California to visit extended family. My mom told me the Koreans don’t need our money, they are already richer than we will ever be. Who are ‘the Koreans’? Who is ‘we’?? Is every person of Korean descent doing better than every person of Vietnamese descent in America? And #why is my mom being A Hater? Surely, sharing our identity as ‘perpetual guests’ in America should create some sort of solidarity, or at least, allow for transitory economic collaboration??? I give my money to white people all the time: to McDonald’s (Cookie Totes), to Target, to Swarthmore College. 

K-pop cannot be the end. As much as I enjoy the music, the show, and the celebrities, I also know in my heart that the current international interest in K-pop will not last. As an almost perfect and perplexing exemplification of modern global capitalism, the industry will over-expand and thus wear itself out. I always see the subtle disappointment on my language teachers’ faces when they ask me how I came to take interest in Korean, and I have to answer ‘K-pop’, because that is the truth; that is not where I am at now, but it will always be how I began. It has become clear to me that this disappointment is not just a generational difference. Maybe these old people are jealous of pop stars like how I also have to question whether I am secure in myself when I see a 14 year old accomplishing things I as a 21 year old could never accomplish in my long life. I am coming to understand that part of their reaction comes from the fact that there is a fine line between cultural appreciation and cultural appropriation, that pop culture is ephemeral, but they have lived their lives as entirely theirs. Casual or even consuming interest for the parts of culture that are bright, and clean, and easy cannot ever stand in for true racial empathy, though it is where many of us start. Identity in K-pop is merely another marketing technique, but to the community of fans and lovers, it is something that is real, lived, and embodied. I find that looking at K-pop always brings forth my most salient identities in terms of gender, race, and sexuality. As much as female group members express affection and jokingly portray romantic interest toward one another, would it ever be accepted if these jokes were no longer jokes, but lived realities? Even if the K-pop industry itself did not seek to produce fan communities of this magnitude, these communities that have been founded in response to it are here to stay.  Lowe argues that “to the extent that Asian American culture dynamically expands to include both internal critical dialogues about difference and the interrogation of dominant interpellations” it can “be a site in which horizontal affiliations with other groups can be imagined and realized” (71). A recent striking example is Thai fans’ demand to hear from Lisa on the protests -- a primarily youth-led movement against the government monarchy--going on in Thailand. Although she is, of course, censored and silenced on this topic, the expectation is still there; fans are holding their idols to a standard of political responsibility. 

Jimmy: I haven’t really paid much attention to K-pop until working on this project. Sure, my cousins would do anything to go see BTS perform in person, but I didn’t care so much. Or maybe, I was just not saturated with the cultural zeitgeist. Whereas they live in the center of a cosmopolitan city which imports and exports, my hometown hums white noise. Increasingly, though, K-pop has entered into my life and the wider American cultural space. Now, K-pop tops the charts and is featured on late-night talk shows. Whether or not you are a devout follower, you have probably encountered K-pop in some form. It was not until I went to Swarthmore that I have “become” Asian American. Back home, my friends are primarily either white or Vietnamese-American. And even though I did recognize that I had an “Asian” racial identity mapped onto me, I did not consider it to be based on any politics. After engaging with and working within  Organizing to Redefine “Asian” Activism (ORAA) on campus, as well as taking this course, I have a better grasp of what it means to rally around an Asian American identity. It is a way to organize and resist. Reflecting on my political evolution, I feel comforted and alienated by the cultural weight of K-pop in America. It is amazing to see the gravity of cultural production shift away from the West. And to have global celebrities from Asia is great. Yet, K-pop is limited as a platform for Asian Americans to create identity. What are the consequences when mainstream ideas about contemporary “Asian” culture are still perpetually foreign from America? Is Asian American community just built around transnational cultural objects like K-pop and bubble tea? Does the economic and cultural capital of K-pop held by its idols obscure or erase the heterogeneity and multiplicity of Asian Americans? 

Jason: The first time I heard K-Pop was when Gangnam Style came on during a middle school social event when everyone is standing in their social circles doing their best not to be awkward when teacher chaperones are constantly staring at the back of your head seeing if any wrongdoing would occur. At that time, I could never imagine the K-Pop revolution that would occur within the American music industry.  Anytime I turn on the radio it is only a matter of time until a BTS song will start being blasted from the speakers. It is crazy to think that K-Pop has become so widespread within American popular culture that mainstream radio stations in Massachusetts are so willing to play K-Pop, even the billboards of 104.1 “Boston’s Best Variety” are plastered with BTS, because they know that is what their audience wants. Eight years ago, during that middle school social Gangnam Style was more about being able to do the dance that accompanied the song rather than the song itself. This has completely changed as more and more people are finding themselves becoming devout supporters of K-Pop. This class and project have continuously been pushing me out of my comfort zone by engaging in literature that I would never have read and discussions that I would never have imagined participating in. I have even listened to more K-Pop over the past couple of weeks than I had ever before in my life. I was impressed by myself when a song by BLACKPINK came on and the radio host said here’s some new music that I knew that the song was from their first album that came out around a month ago. I am grateful that I have been pushed out of my comfort zone and “forced (by having to actually do the homework)” to engage in the material of the class. Who knows how long this K-Pop fascination will last in American popular culture, but I am glad that I could be a part of it rather than letting it pass me by and staying within my comfortable music sphere of country, pop, and British rap.  

COVID-19 whack-a-mole

What a carnival game can teach us about pandemic response. Regions that had the pandemic under control are now seeing resurgences – proof that we have to hit back hard and fast

André Picard, The Globe and Mail

Monday, July 27, 2020

Regions that had the pandemic under control are now seeing resurgences – proof that we have to hit back hard and fast

When thinking about how we can contain the spread of the novel coronavirus, it would be instructive – if perhaps odd – to think of the fight as an endless carnival game where the only way to stop the rapidly and randomly emerging threats is with a quick strike of a mallet.

Renowned science journalist Ed Yong was the first to use that apt arcade metaphor in the pandemic’s early days. “We are in for this long, protracted game of whack-a-mole with the virus, where different places will stamp it out at different times. It will surge back. It will need to be controlled again,” he said on NPR’s Fresh Air.

Mr. Yong’s prophetic scenario is now playing out around the world. Countries that bragged about taming the outbreak are now being humbled by the coronavirus’s rebound. The same phenomenon is being seen in Canada, too; after bringing their new-case numbers down to almost zero, B.C., Alberta and Saskatchewan are seeing them spike again.

Six months, 16.5 million cases and 650,000 deaths into the devastating pandemic, the world has learned many lessons. One of the most important ones: when introducing public-health measures such as lockdowns, physical distancing and mask wearing, you have to hit hard and fast.

Nobody wins at whack-a-mole by being slow and meandering, even if, when you whack furiously, some of the mallet blows cause collateral damage.

The other essential lesson is that when governments ease off containment measures, the virus exploits the opportunity. If restrictions are loosened too much, or too soon, a rebound will occur.

Australia, for instance, held off the coronavirus for months, becoming an early poster child for what a smart response looked like. But on Monday, the country recorded its highest number of coronavirus cases in a day, despite having imposed another massive lockdown early this month to try to rein in the surge.

Japan also acted swiftly, using a strategy of vigorous contact tracing to limit spread. But when it reopened bars and nightclubs in June, contact tracing couldn’t keep up. After all, in bars, infected people can interact, directly or indirectly, with hundreds or even thousands of people over the course of one evening.

Vietnam, a country that was declared coronavirus-free after 100 days without local transmission, just recorded its first such case in Da Nang, a popular tourist destination.

Meanwhile, Spain – which had one of the deadliest COVID-19 rates in the world – did a remarkable job of getting its outbreak under control, but it too has seen flare-ups, some of them significant.

We need to bear in mind that the global pandemic is being driven by three countries: the U.S., Brazil and India. Between them, they account for more than half of new cases in the world.

But the scattered outbreaks – these rebounds – are concerning because of the cautionary tales they represent. Any country, if its people and government get a bit too complacent, could potentially become the next hot spot.

One of the big advantages that the virus has is time. Unlike whack-a-mole, with its two-minute time limit, the coronavirus is going to keep coming for the foreseeable future, for months if not years – or at least until there is an effective vaccine.

A continued state of cautiousness is difficult to maintain. We can’t stay locked down forever. We can’t keep kids out of school indefinitely. We can’t flawlessly maintain our bubbles.

There are going to be more flare-ups. They’re going to happen in countries, cities and towns that are convinced they are coronavirus-free. They’re going to happen when people who thought they were at low risk get infected. This wily virus will continue to fool and frustrate us, and hope we let our guard down.

Pandemic fatigue is real. As cases surge, fall and rebound, we all risk suffering from emotional and economic whiplash. But as eager as we might be to travel again, to hit the clubs, get back to the office or get kids back to school, we have to keep our eye on the long game.

Having “new moles” pop up is inevitable as we loosen restrictions. But the mallet we need comes in the form of sound public policies – mandatory mask laws, limits on gathering sizes, quick testing and tracing.

We need to be vigilant to ensure the surprises are kept to a minimum and, when new outbreaks occur, we can whack them quickly and effectively.

When it comes to coronavirus, whack-a-mole is not just a game. It’s a survival strategy.