#the empty spaces are for future games/slideshows

[girlinthetardis04]

Okay, I might have a problem

[summonerscenarios]

If you do angst, can you do hcs on Ophion, Oniwaka, and Zabiniyya in this scenario. They get kidnapped. The 3 guys are then shown loops of them and MC falling in love, but it shows that those loops end with them betraying and killing MC. Luckily, they get saved by MC and Co. How would they feel toward MC after being shown all of that?

ooooooh okay so this one has been a long time coming but I think it finally came out okay!!! Apologies it may have come off a bit more serious than intended but I do  hope that it’s okay~!

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Ophion

The kidnappers have definitely got either extremely accurate Intel or got extremely lucky to have managed to find the great Ophion in a moment of supposed weakness. Inevitably his overconfidence in his own abilities that gets him captured — he underestimated his opponents by assuming that their strength was merely in their numbers. And it is because of this that he’s unable to see the incoming onslaught of attacks, forcing his guard down long enough for them to charge in and bring him to his knees.

Ophion’s kidnappers make no attempts to hide their location — their movements would seem sloppy to anyone else as they transport him back to their destination, however by the time they arrive at the location in question it’s clear that it’s on purpose. They want someone to come for him, meaning that they plan to make this quick and that’s a dangerous game to be involved in. His restraints may keep him bound for now but he’s already testing them for weaknesses, waiting for the right moment to snap them off as he’s tied down in one of the building's many rooms.

Though he’s enraged over his capture he’s smarter than to waste his breath angering his kidnappers; instead he tries to get as much information out of them as he could, and surprisingly they’re more open to his questions than he’d first thought. They let slip about an orb and memories and it is then that they seem to decide that they have waited long enough. The orb comes into view, cradled in the leader’s arms as it is presented to Ophion, however the dragon has little time to observe the weird sphere before something begins to force its way into his thoughts.

The memories that begin to seep out of the crevices within his mind are new, or so he thinks — he recognizes the places and faces of those he’s seen before, and knows somewhere deep within himself that these memories are his own, and yet they couldn’t feel more foreign to him even as they click into place. Many come and go through this bizarre slideshow, but the one who shines above them all is of course you, his beloved spouse. He watches these moments that have passed yet don’t exist; of taking you into his arms, hearing you laugh as you relax against his broad chest, a content look of pure adoration on your face. Your skin feels real beneath his hand and lips as he relieves these memories of intimate moments you’ve shared together, recalling the eager smiles, the long nights and the quiet times of mutual understanding between you - it’s more than what he could have ever desired...

Your first death comes without warning. The moments leading up to it are lost under a sheer wave of memories as they filter through the correct ones to show him, and suddenly Ophion is now acutely aware of their intentions as he looks down at you unmoving form from his own eyes. You’re curled up as though mid crawl at his feet, one hand wrapped around his ankles and nails digging into the scales unwilling to release even in death. If it wasn’t for the pain he would have cast it aside as a lie, a mere illusion to wear away his spirit, but as the memories begging to pour in, further and further burrowing into his mind he realizes this is not a one time occurrence.

 More and more blood is spilt, it stains his golden scales a burning scarlet and his claws still hold remains of your flesh; every battle ends in a similarly brutal fashion seeing through to your demise at his own hands. You put up a fight till the very end, even mortally wounded you don’t give up, a testament to your devotion to a better future; in any other circumstance seeing you fight would light the fire of pride deep within his heart, but now? As he hears you cry and scream and beg and fight? It pierces deeper than any blade could hope to touch and it twists.

Ophion is appalled at his own actions - what could possibly have deluded this old self of his into believing that your death was just? What could it have possibly fixed? He isn’t privy to such answers, a move that he knows is intentional and suddenly the rage within him bubbles once again at the thought of his kidnappers. It is this that finally breaks him out of this death cycle, and he comes to alone in that same room, but not for long. 

You’re the one to find him first, and at the sound of your voice calling out to him Ophion’s head snaps up to meet your own; it only takes a few tries at his restraints before he’s free and almost immediately he takes you into his arms, ignoring the squeak of surprise it pulls out of you in favor of holding you impossibly close. Of course you laugh it off as his usual eccentric tricks however this time it’s anything but - his hold is firm but now keenly aware of how fragile you can be and his main focus is hearing your heartbeat, feeling your pulse and watching the rise and fall of your chest to assure himself that the you before him is truly alive — alive and unharmed.

He does his best to take these new memories to heart — they are valuable lessons of the errors which he was foolish enough to make and they are not ones that he will allow to take place again so long as there is breath in his lungs. However he does not come out of the experience mentally unscathed. In moments of silence his mind brings back these memories, the voices and screams being the most prevalent to worm into his thoughts. Ophion also finds himself hesitating to touch you; it’s as though your very body is glass beneath his claws, cracks blossoming across your skin visible to none but himself in his mind’s eye. It angers him more than anything to realize this hesitation, but he’s unable to shake it long after this event, as though his body waits for those memories to repeat themselves once again...

Oniwaka

Oniwaka is pissed. He’d barely even let his guard down for a minute and look where it gets him! He’s been in his fair share of scraps and knows that anyone with the balls to try and corner him in an alleyway is looking for a fight. The trouble is he’s so sure that he can take them on no problem that he doesn’t even realize just how badly they’ve got him pinned until he’s surrounded with his back to the wall. Obviously he’s not going to take getting kidnapped lying down and quite literally fights tooth and nail, dealing out some pretty heavy damage against his attackers before they finally manage to knock him down and out cold. 

By the time he comes to it’s clear he’s been moved somewhere else. He’s bound tightly enough that each attempt at deep breaths hurts and he doesn’t recognize the area; though it’s so suspiciously clean, sterile and well kept that it sets red flags off in his head almost immediately. It also doesn’t take him long to notice that he’s not alone in the room. The only other person in the room is looking at him without saying a word, which is even more unnerving than if they’d been openly mocking him about the situation. There’s a few minutes where there’s only silence. That damn, stretching silence that’s long enough that he’s on the defensive the moment that his kidnapper finally stands up.

He’s fully preparing himself for some kind of interrogation, waiting for the weapons to be drawn and blood to be spilt. He’s snarling at them trying to get them to back off when they reach back for something, pulling out some kind of black orb and before he can even snap at them asking what the fuck that is it just hits him.

Something’s tugging at the back of his mind, unlocking an empty space in his head and filling it up with information that feels like it should have been there all along. Oniwaka sees you. He remembers times spent together with you that he shouldn’t, times where you’re smiling and holding hands and pressed impossibly close where all he could touch and breathe was you - they’re times of love. And he remembers none of it. He knows that these are his memories but he can’t wrap his head around what he’s seeing - the two of you were together, in love even, and watching this all play out makes something in his chest swell that he can’t describe...it almost feels nice to know that you shared this kind of relationship, and could even share it again this time around.

The pleasant memories don’t last for long however, they’re all too soon ripped away from his mind and suddenly there’s betrayal and blood scarring his every thought when he realizes the outcome of this loop. You die, cut down by his very own blade and bleeding out right in front of him and he watches himself...do absolutely nothing. The ...other Oniwaka just watches you as your breathing slows and then your chest stops rising...your tears stop falling...the whimpers grow quiet...and just like that he’s alone...until it resets.

And that’s not the only time either. He sees it again and again, your death played out in so many different ways and places that he loses track, but all of them end with one glaring similarity - your death is his fault. It tears him apart from the inside out seeing the replays. He can feel your flesh breaking open beneath his weapon, feel you clawing at the hands wrapped around your throat, see the look of utter betrayal begging him for answers —Why? Why are you doing this?! Maybe it’s the kidnappers’ intentions all along or just pure misfortune but those answers don't come with these memories and this is probably worse than any other pain they could have inflicted on him- and the whole time this is happening that’s all he can ask himself. 

Why? What led to this point? Why did he betray you? Ruin your trust? Kill you?!

There’s no telling how much time passes between the first wave of memories and his rescue. By the time that you and the Summoners find out where he is and come to save him the kidnappers are long gone and his head is still reeling from the relentless assault of new(old?) memories. Oniwaka is uncharacteristically quiet, tuning out most of what is being said as he’s cut free; he’s glad that he can breathe easier now but the room still feels stifling with the weight of what happened there. When Oniwaka sees you approach him he tenses up and immediately steps around you, stating bluntly that they need to get out of here and walking right on ahead, much to the concern of you and the other Summoners.

You try to talk to him but you’ll get nothing aside from one worded answers and the occasional grunt. All attempts at conversation end up at dead ends and even though it kills him to see the hurt look on your face he knows that he’ll probably end up snapping at you if he tries to answer.

He completely cuts contact with you all for a long while after that, but checks on you from time to time when you don’t notice him. Oniwaka’s going to try and work through the memories that he’s got to deal with on his own and is torn between his promise of protecting you and the worry over what he could do to you if he gets too close. He’s seen it first hand what getting attached to you can lead to and he doesn’t even know what triggers it. Every time that he looks at his hands he can see your blood staining them no matter how many times he’s tried to scrub it away. The only thing he really hopes is that those Summoners can protect you more than he can, because he’s struggling to even trust himself around you from this point onwards. 

Zabaniyya 

Out of the three of them Zabaniyya would very likely be the hardest to capture. The flames he commands and the strength of his rule is perfectly tailored to his days of being a torturer and it would take many enemies, time and sheer luck to wear him down enough to be able to take him. He had only stepped away from the Aoyama guilds territory for a short while, having just seen you off from your visit and was on his way to return back when they had accosted him, swarming in abruptly and keeping him cornered off in a space small enough where his flames would not be as effective.Clearly they were waiting for this moment and had timed it carefully to leave room for little error, however he could not afford to let these people do as they pleased.

Zabaniyya doesn’t feel the hit that takes him out — and finds himself waking up chained down and restrained in a place unfamiliar to him some time later. It’s crude work but strong enough that his limbs are stiff and beginning to numb. There’s little time to wonder over the kidnapper’s purpose for taking him when the door on the far end of the room opens up and someone walks in - though from his position anything from the waist up is hard to make out. Their footsteps are calm but cautious; they’re smart enough to realize that even restrained he’s still very much a danger to them, yet the fact that they still continue to approach as though confident in their safety causes an unusual feeling to settle within him...apprehension perhaps? 

There’s a moment where the transient wonders if this is how those tortured by his flames had felt - waiting for an inevitable blow to come no matter how prepared they allow themselves to believe they are. Surely the reason for his capture has to do with his ties to you, as few would go through this length to use him as leverage against his own guild when there were many others easier to take. It is with this mindset that he resolves himself that he will not break no matter the pain that these captors intend to inflict on him. The only words he hears his captors speak is the hushed words of “Gotta make this one quick” before the orb comes into view.

The memories come suddenly. There is no warning, no command that starts the presentation of past loops but nonetheless they are there, worming their way through his mind and weaving into the missing gaps until the memories start to take shape. Feelings, touch, taste, noise - they all come along with the images of forgotten moments, and many things begin to click into place watching them play out before him. He’s surprised to find you so tightly woven into these sets of memories, and it jarrs him further upon realizing that it is clear the two of you have a relationship far deeper than a tool and a summoner. These newfound moments of intimacy stir up something within him; it’s greedy and fiery and it makes his fingertips ache to recreate what he sees before him. Seeing you smile and weave your fingers between his own, watching your mere presence that can light up an entire room focus directly upon his previous self as though he is the only one on your mind. It’s selfish but it’s something he finds himself wanting desperately.

However it is then that this train of thought is all but shattered once the endings begin to play. There is no happy ending, no pleasant outcome to allow him to fantasize about your perceived future together. The first time he held your dying body in his arms felt too horrific to be real; you were scorched, beaten and every breath is a struggle and yet you were still kind to him. You’d looked up into his eyes and told him you understood, even though you were hurting, scarred and scared. His previous self had enough decency to prevent you from suffering any further, but it was only the beginning of many. 

Each betrayal followed a similar pattern - the periods of bliss between them fluctuate from days, to weeks to mere hours before an event triggers the fight that sparks between you.It appears as though you are the only one caught in the crossfire, the other Summoners fortunately spared yet seemingly absent when you would need them most. Your deaths were almost always swift which he finds a twisted blessing, but the cumulative pain that you must have experienced over and over again at his very own hands no less destroys Zabaniyya more than any form of torture these kidnappers could have subjected him to.  

Zabaniyya only comes back to his senses once he hears voices, knocking him out of whatever stupor the orb had left him in. He recognizes it as Toji and Ryota, hearing them getting closer right as they open the door to find him, surprise washing over their faces before Ryota rushes forward to check on him and Toji calls out to the others that they’d found him. While still trying to gain his bearings he’s able to shuck off what’s left of his shackles and get to his feet by the time the other Summoners make it inside the room. He’s attempting to ease Ryota’s worries about being hurt as the boy swarms him in near tears when he feels a comforting hand pressing against his shoulder. There’s a single moment where he forgets what he’s witnessed as he looks up to meet your gaze, but as he watches your face melt from concern to relief it’s as though that warm hand scorches his very flesh and he tears away as though burned.

He’s failed you, that much is clear to him. Even if he were to argue that those versions of himself aren’t the person that he is now the fact that it happened in the first place is irredeemable enough in his eyes. He isn’t able to look you in the eyes the whole time; every time he looks at you he’s haunted by the stench of your charred flesh and those warm eyes looking at him in worry only aid in sickening him further remembering them hollow and void. The moment that you go your separate ways he’s steeled himself in the resolve that he refuses to allow these loops to ever repeat themselves. He still desires to be your spear, and devotes himself to the role of a tool for your use should you ever need it, but in every other sense he is completely closed off from anything beyond that. The reasoning of ‘if he doesn’t allow himself to fall prey to his own emotions then he will be able to keep you safe’ is the only way of thinking that he allows himself to entertain and in this he isn’t going to waver.

In the end he doesn’t tell you or the Summoners what he saw — he knows that he should, you deserve the right to know what exactly happened in those past loops, and yet every time he considers confessing to you his chest tightens at the thought of you looking at him as some kind of monster when you inevitably learn that he killed you. Surely you could never forgive him? Even if you did he’d never forgive himself; and so he keeps it from you as his own sin to bear, one that he will never stop punishing himself for.

[easyfoodnetwork]

The Actual Experience of Virtual Experiences

You can tour a museum at 9, take a mixology class at 11, and swoop over Machu Picchu at 3, but do these online versions of “doing stuff” really scratch the itch?

Most of us are currently missing things like Outside and Proximity to Other Humans. For the lucky ones, at least, monotony and loneliness are our most prominent enemies, as we stare down seemingly endless nights of Netflix and bean soaking, longing for the day we can experience somewhere else. If you run a business that requires anyone travel from one place to another, this means that you’re particularly reeling. Airline capacity is down 73 percent, hotels are empty, and even the potential reopening of restaurants and bars comes with heavy caveats. Because of that, brands like Airbnb, Viator, Google, and various tourism councils have begun offering virtual “experiences,” so that hypothetically you both keep spending money and also don’t die of boredom. But can paying to stare at a screen for culture really rescue you from the monotony of staring at Twitter? Or are they, you know, both screens?

Broadly, there are two types of experiences happening today. First, there are interactive classes and group activities, where you can learn to make pasta or Irish step dance or listen to a museum docent talk about statuary on a video call — all with other people looking to emerge from this time with a new skill set. In Philadelphia, one restaurant owner is trying to mimic the experience of dining out. He video calls you for your order and then, once it’s delivered, calls back to check in on your wine and see how everything is. Aside from the fact that they take place over a video call, these experiences are pretty close to their in-person counterparts: you sign up for a particular time and date, you follow directions, and supposedly you learn something, or at least pretend you’re in a restaurant.

Can paying to stare at a screen for culture really rescue you from the monotony of staring at Twitter?

And then there are the experiences that aim to “immerse” you in some locale that is not your apartment, whether that’s Rome’s colosseum or an orchard of cherry blossoms in Japan or the British Museum. Often, the entirety of the experience is just a 360-degree camera or other pre-recorded video footage of a beautiful place, and sometimes it’s free. Maybe for a brief moment it will seem as if you aren’t on the couch with your partner who won’t stop bouncing every time they try to catch a tarantula in Animal Crossing, but instead are surrounded by skulls and a haunting breeze in Paris’s catacombs. Or seeing the Faroe Islands through the eyes of a local with a camera strapped to their shirt and whose movements you can control with a joypad (yes, this is real, and no, it does not seem ethical).

Both of these types of experiences are not new, except for the joypad thing. Virtual cooking classes and workouts are offered by plenty of companies, and Google has long allowed you to tour the world’s museums, or plant yourself in the middle of a national park on Google Earth. Normally, these offerings are an invaluable tool for those who don’t have the ability — whether financially or physically or because there’s only so much time — to visit these spaces in person. Personally, I’ve avoided them all. Aside from the occasional video yoga class, it just didn’t seem worth it — too much potential for technical difficulties, too easy to open Twitter in another tab. Plus, I could just go there if I really wanted.

But now that the pandemic has wiped out any in-person plans for the foreseeable future, boredom is my primary struggle. I finish work and move from my dining table to my couch, queueing up another movie or TV show or video game. The idea of a plan, of something to look forward to, feels increasingly distant — and online experiences increasingly appealing. Can they actually fulfill our collective void of “doing,” or just highlight how far we are from ever “experiencing” in person again? I decided to fill up my calendar again to find out — or at least see if I could forget about the confining walls of my apartment, even for a few minutes.

The instructions for Airbnb’s “GINspiration History & Cocktails at Home” said that points would be given for the best outfit, so I put on earrings and an actual shirt before signing on. The company best known for providing vacation and short-term rentals offered “experiences” — both real-life and virtual — before the spread of COVID-19, but has taken care to promote the latter on its homepage recently. You can learn to cook tacos or pasta or tapas, or watch a man wandering the streets of Prague in a plague doctor costume as you learn about the Black Death. My hour-and-a-half long class promised the bartender would teach me to make some great gin cocktails, as well as tell me a bit about the history of the spirit itself. It took place at 11:30 in the morning EST (the host was in England) but time is meaningless now, right?

I assume I won the best outfit contest, as I was the only student.

Signing onto what you assume will be a bustling Zoom chat only to find yourself the only one there is a little like showing up early to a party; it’s deeply embarrassing for no specific reason, and the only way through is to act like being a party of one is your favorite thing. We waited a few minutes for the other student who had signed up, but he never came. He is my enemy now, and I began the class feeling resentful that I had no other participants to hide behind, and that I had to make an extra grocery run to pick up the limes and juices necessary for cocktail prep. These should have been provided for me, I thought. There should have been more people. It shouldn’t be like this.

But as I listened to my instructor’s story about accidentally spilling a bright pink Cosmo all over a bachelorette’s white dress, I realized I was experiencing what felt like something new after weeks of monotony: talking to a stranger. For an hour and a half the bartender and I chatted, he told jokes, we traded stories and watched each other’s reactions, I drank a French 75 on an empty stomach, and he taught me how to make daiquiris and Cosmos as well, because I came woefully unprepared in the ingredients department. And I know it’s a bartender’s job to make everyone feel like their friend, but I felt like his friend, which meant I felt like my kitchen was a bar. The magic worked, and I’m not sure if my socialization itch would have been scratched had that other guy (still my enemy) showed up.

So I tried another one. I have been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art countless times in my life. As a New Yorker, I can name my price and visit my personal highlights on any rainy day — the Arms & Armor section, the Asian and “Arab Lands” wings, jewelry, “Inferno” by Franz von Stuck. The Met is currently offering 360 degree video of some of its corridors, but to see any art up close right now, I had to sign up for a tour with Walks. The hour-long tour promised a docent would uncover the “scandals and secrets that lie behind some of the artifacts in America’s greatest art collection,” and an art lecture would mean I’d experience the Met in a way I haven’t since I was a kid on a class trip.

I realized I was experiencing what felt like something new after weeks of monotony: talking to a stranger.

Our docent first started by highlighting all the benefits of an at-home video tour, as if we had a choice. On a normal day we’d probably have to wait outside in a line, waddle through security, and check our coats before seeing any art. Now, he joked, we could be “naked with a glass of cabernet” on hand, and because our “tour” took the form of a slideshow of images, we could zip from the Egyptian wing to “Washington Crossing the Delaware” nearly instantly. In the museum it would have been a 15-minute walk. Our docent clicked through works I’d never stopped to notice before, and famous paintings I’d never really considered that deeply. I learned who Madame X was in John Singer Sargent’s portrait, and that Monet’s water lilies were more staged than I’d previously imagined. I regretted that I’d spent so much time at the Met cycling through what I already knew.

But I found myself missing that 15-minute walk. Our tour was an hour long and featured 87 PowerPoint slides. As soon as we were done with one painting we hopped to the next, leaving barely any time for our new knowledge to sink in. I pictured myself in the alternate-universe version of the tour, following a man holding a flag, maybe chatting with a stranger on the tour about what he’d just said as we weaved through galleries, feeling whether the energy of the group was “bored” or “amused” or “laughing politely.” Our video host turned off everyone’s cameras, so I couldn’t even see the nine other participants’ faces as our docent spoke, or allow him to see my genuine laughs at any of his jokes. I joined to stave off the loneliness, but once the call was ended, I felt newly alone.

In an online conference hosted last week by Arival Online, a resource specifically for the tours and attractions companies, members of the tourism industry gathered to discuss the pros and pitfalls of virtual tours, and whether they were worth investing in. The short answer was yes. Andy Lawrence of Vox Group (no relation) noted that this is what business will be like for a while. “From that we know social distancing will become a norm, and the easiest way to deal with this is to give someone the power to take a tour how and when they want,” he said. However, he denied it was a long-term solution, as people can get free videos of monuments and museums on YouTube. Online education may be a need now, but there’s no telling how long it’ll last.

But others noted it didn’t seem like interactive tours were really competing with the videos on YouTube. “I don’t see it as a full replacement for travel, but a new initiative that’s complementary for travel when we get back to normal,” said Matthijs Kefi of Withlocals. After all, streaming a video is one-way. “Our hosts also want to connect with other people, everyone likes that interaction.” The point of a guided tour or a lesson is rarely just the accumulation of new information. We had cookbooks and Wikipedia before the pandemic. What we want is people.

Public anonymity is one of the things that keeps me in my hometown of New York. I’ve cried in parks, in museums, and at well-renowned bars. I’ve sat quietly with my thoughts at crowded restaurants, and I’ve had life-changing conversations in front of world-famous monuments. Some of the most important things have happened to me while I’ve been shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers.

Now, all of these things happen on my couch. There is no white-noise of humanity to provide cover to my sobs or my half-baked ideas. I am not anonymous, but alone, and the thing I am missing the most is being in public with strangers. What I wouldn’t give right now to attend a book reading, have a drink, or look at a painting with people I’ll never know. What I miss about the world isn’t being told about an artist’s life by a docent. It’s meandering through a museum, talking to my partner about why a newly seen painting is hitting us, quietly experiencing the beauties of life alone in company.

As soon as I named this craving for myself I started feeling it in anything else I tried to do. I clicked around a virtual tour of Machu Picchu where tourists in bucket hats and cargo shorts stand frozen and warped by the circular camera. I tried to recall what the wind felt like on my own trip there over a decade ago, but I could only focus on what it would be like to overhear another person’s conversation. I looked at cherry blossoms blooming in Prospect Park, and thought of the last time I was there, which happened to be the same weekend as the West Indian Day Parade so the Japanese garden was juxtaposed with booming dancehall music from the street. I tried “going” somewhere I’d never been before, the Great Wall of China, only to find myself focusing more on a tourist squatting while drinking a water bottle than any of the sights.

“The same” is too high a bar to set for these experiences. Nobody is advertising that these virtual tours and classes will provide an identical experience to one in person, but rather they’re a way to support docents and guides and bartenders who would otherwise be out of work. But even then, it’s too easy to recall the other version of this experience, the one where your conversation isn’t studded with glitching video, where you can shake the bartender’s hand after he’s taught you how to make a lemon twist, where even after you’ve found a quiet spot at the top of Machu Picchu where it feels like you’re the only person in the whole world, you can walk back down and watch everyone else having their own moments of transcendence without ever having to ask them about it.

Most everything about life right now is both deeply essential and muted. We’re instructed to leave our houses only for necessary work or supplies, and only touch those we live with (which could mean no one at all). Every decision carries the weight of literal life and death. And yet every action feels like a photocopied version of reality, like we’re in a holding pattern until life gets switched back on. The virtual tours and classes are no different. Human interaction, however it happens, feels newly vital. But mostly, these tours and experiences don’t provide that any more than watching Too Hot to Handle on Netflix does. The majority of them are one-way entertainment, good enough if the topic interests you, but the equivalent of an interesting PBS special. And even when they are slightly more interactive, there is no lasting release. You say goodbye, feeling smarter or tipsier or full. The video sputters and freezes and then it ends, and you’re still in your living room, with no one to even ignore you.

Anyway, I love Cosmos now, so at least there’s that.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2A0rvW5 https://ift.tt/3ddgm2g

You can tour a museum at 9, take a mixology class at 11, and swoop over Machu Picchu at 3, but do these online versions of “doing stuff” really scratch the itch?

Most of us are currently missing things like Outside and Proximity to Other Humans. For the lucky ones, at least, monotony and loneliness are our most prominent enemies, as we stare down seemingly endless nights of Netflix and bean soaking, longing for the day we can experience somewhere else. If you run a business that requires anyone travel from one place to another, this means that you’re particularly reeling. Airline capacity is down 73 percent, hotels are empty, and even the potential reopening of restaurants and bars comes with heavy caveats. Because of that, brands like Airbnb, Viator, Google, and various tourism councils have begun offering virtual “experiences,” so that hypothetically you both keep spending money and also don’t die of boredom. But can paying to stare at a screen for culture really rescue you from the monotony of staring at Twitter? Or are they, you know, both screens?

Broadly, there are two types of experiences happening today. First, there are interactive classes and group activities, where you can learn to make pasta or Irish step dance or listen to a museum docent talk about statuary on a video call — all with other people looking to emerge from this time with a new skill set. In Philadelphia, one restaurant owner is trying to mimic the experience of dining out. He video calls you for your order and then, once it’s delivered, calls back to check in on your wine and see how everything is. Aside from the fact that they take place over a video call, these experiences are pretty close to their in-person counterparts: you sign up for a particular time and date, you follow directions, and supposedly you learn something, or at least pretend you’re in a restaurant.

Can paying to stare at a screen for culture really rescue you from the monotony of staring at Twitter?

And then there are the experiences that aim to “immerse” you in some locale that is not your apartment, whether that’s Rome’s colosseum or an orchard of cherry blossoms in Japan or the British Museum. Often, the entirety of the experience is just a 360-degree camera or other pre-recorded video footage of a beautiful place, and sometimes it’s free. Maybe for a brief moment it will seem as if you aren’t on the couch with your partner who won’t stop bouncing every time they try to catch a tarantula in Animal Crossing, but instead are surrounded by skulls and a haunting breeze in Paris’s catacombs. Or seeing the Faroe Islands through the eyes of a local with a camera strapped to their shirt and whose movements you can control with a joypad (yes, this is real, and no, it does not seem ethical).

Both of these types of experiences are not new, except for the joypad thing. Virtual cooking classes and workouts are offered by plenty of companies, and Google has long allowed you to tour the world’s museums, or plant yourself in the middle of a national park on Google Earth. Normally, these offerings are an invaluable tool for those who don’t have the ability — whether financially or physically or because there’s only so much time — to visit these spaces in person. Personally, I’ve avoided them all. Aside from the occasional video yoga class, it just didn’t seem worth it — too much potential for technical difficulties, too easy to open Twitter in another tab. Plus, I could just go there if I really wanted.

But now that the pandemic has wiped out any in-person plans for the foreseeable future, boredom is my primary struggle. I finish work and move from my dining table to my couch, queueing up another movie or TV show or video game. The idea of a plan, of something to look forward to, feels increasingly distant — and online experiences increasingly appealing. Can they actually fulfill our collective void of “doing,” or just highlight how far we are from ever “experiencing” in person again? I decided to fill up my calendar again to find out — or at least see if I could forget about the confining walls of my apartment, even for a few minutes.

The instructions for Airbnb’s “GINspiration History & Cocktails at Home” said that points would be given for the best outfit, so I put on earrings and an actual shirt before signing on. The company best known for providing vacation and short-term rentals offered “experiences” — both real-life and virtual — before the spread of COVID-19, but has taken care to promote the latter on its homepage recently. You can learn to cook tacos or pasta or tapas, or watch a man wandering the streets of Prague in a plague doctor costume as you learn about the Black Death. My hour-and-a-half long class promised the bartender would teach me to make some great gin cocktails, as well as tell me a bit about the history of the spirit itself. It took place at 11:30 in the morning EST (the host was in England) but time is meaningless now, right?

I assume I won the best outfit contest, as I was the only student.

Signing onto what you assume will be a bustling Zoom chat only to find yourself the only one there is a little like showing up early to a party; it’s deeply embarrassing for no specific reason, and the only way through is to act like being a party of one is your favorite thing. We waited a few minutes for the other student who had signed up, but he never came. He is my enemy now, and I began the class feeling resentful that I had no other participants to hide behind, and that I had to make an extra grocery run to pick up the limes and juices necessary for cocktail prep. These should have been provided for me, I thought. There should have been more people. It shouldn’t be like this.

But as I listened to my instructor’s story about accidentally spilling a bright pink Cosmo all over a bachelorette’s white dress, I realized I was experiencing what felt like something new after weeks of monotony: talking to a stranger. For an hour and a half the bartender and I chatted, he told jokes, we traded stories and watched each other’s reactions, I drank a French 75 on an empty stomach, and he taught me how to make daiquiris and Cosmos as well, because I came woefully unprepared in the ingredients department. And I know it’s a bartender’s job to make everyone feel like their friend, but I felt like his friend, which meant I felt like my kitchen was a bar. The magic worked, and I’m not sure if my socialization itch would have been scratched had that other guy (still my enemy) showed up.

So I tried another one. I have been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art countless times in my life. As a New Yorker, I can name my price and visit my personal highlights on any rainy day — the Arms & Armor section, the Asian and “Arab Lands” wings, jewelry, “Inferno” by Franz von Stuck. The Met is currently offering 360 degree video of some of its corridors, but to see any art up close right now, I had to sign up for a tour with Walks. The hour-long tour promised a docent would uncover the “scandals and secrets that lie behind some of the artifacts in America’s greatest art collection,” and an art lecture would mean I’d experience the Met in a way I haven’t since I was a kid on a class trip.

I realized I was experiencing what felt like something new after weeks of monotony: talking to a stranger.

Our docent first started by highlighting all the benefits of an at-home video tour, as if we had a choice. On a normal day we’d probably have to wait outside in a line, waddle through security, and check our coats before seeing any art. Now, he joked, we could be “naked with a glass of cabernet” on hand, and because our “tour” took the form of a slideshow of images, we could zip from the Egyptian wing to “Washington Crossing the Delaware” nearly instantly. In the museum it would have been a 15-minute walk. Our docent clicked through works I’d never stopped to notice before, and famous paintings I’d never really considered that deeply. I learned who Madame X was in John Singer Sargent’s portrait, and that Monet’s water lilies were more staged than I’d previously imagined. I regretted that I’d spent so much time at the Met cycling through what I already knew.

But I found myself missing that 15-minute walk. Our tour was an hour long and featured 87 PowerPoint slides. As soon as we were done with one painting we hopped to the next, leaving barely any time for our new knowledge to sink in. I pictured myself in the alternate-universe version of the tour, following a man holding a flag, maybe chatting with a stranger on the tour about what he’d just said as we weaved through galleries, feeling whether the energy of the group was “bored” or “amused” or “laughing politely.” Our video host turned off everyone’s cameras, so I couldn’t even see the nine other participants’ faces as our docent spoke, or allow him to see my genuine laughs at any of his jokes. I joined to stave off the loneliness, but once the call was ended, I felt newly alone.

In an online conference hosted last week by Arival Online, a resource specifically for the tours and attractions companies, members of the tourism industry gathered to discuss the pros and pitfalls of virtual tours, and whether they were worth investing in. The short answer was yes. Andy Lawrence of Vox Group (no relation) noted that this is what business will be like for a while. “From that we know social distancing will become a norm, and the easiest way to deal with this is to give someone the power to take a tour how and when they want,” he said. However, he denied it was a long-term solution, as people can get free videos of monuments and museums on YouTube. Online education may be a need now, but there’s no telling how long it’ll last.

But others noted it didn’t seem like interactive tours were really competing with the videos on YouTube. “I don’t see it as a full replacement for travel, but a new initiative that’s complementary for travel when we get back to normal,” said Matthijs Kefi of Withlocals. After all, streaming a video is one-way. “Our hosts also want to connect with other people, everyone likes that interaction.” The point of a guided tour or a lesson is rarely just the accumulation of new information. We had cookbooks and Wikipedia before the pandemic. What we want is people.

Public anonymity is one of the things that keeps me in my hometown of New York. I’ve cried in parks, in museums, and at well-renowned bars. I’ve sat quietly with my thoughts at crowded restaurants, and I’ve had life-changing conversations in front of world-famous monuments. Some of the most important things have happened to me while I’ve been shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers.

Now, all of these things happen on my couch. There is no white-noise of humanity to provide cover to my sobs or my half-baked ideas. I am not anonymous, but alone, and the thing I am missing the most is being in public with strangers. What I wouldn’t give right now to attend a book reading, have a drink, or look at a painting with people I’ll never know. What I miss about the world isn’t being told about an artist’s life by a docent. It’s meandering through a museum, talking to my partner about why a newly seen painting is hitting us, quietly experiencing the beauties of life alone in company.

As soon as I named this craving for myself I started feeling it in anything else I tried to do. I clicked around a virtual tour of Machu Picchu where tourists in bucket hats and cargo shorts stand frozen and warped by the circular camera. I tried to recall what the wind felt like on my own trip there over a decade ago, but I could only focus on what it would be like to overhear another person’s conversation. I looked at cherry blossoms blooming in Prospect Park, and thought of the last time I was there, which happened to be the same weekend as the West Indian Day Parade so the Japanese garden was juxtaposed with booming dancehall music from the street. I tried “going” somewhere I’d never been before, the Great Wall of China, only to find myself focusing more on a tourist squatting while drinking a water bottle than any of the sights.

“The same” is too high a bar to set for these experiences. Nobody is advertising that these virtual tours and classes will provide an identical experience to one in person, but rather they’re a way to support docents and guides and bartenders who would otherwise be out of work. But even then, it’s too easy to recall the other version of this experience, the one where your conversation isn’t studded with glitching video, where you can shake the bartender’s hand after he’s taught you how to make a lemon twist, where even after you’ve found a quiet spot at the top of Machu Picchu where it feels like you’re the only person in the whole world, you can walk back down and watch everyone else having their own moments of transcendence without ever having to ask them about it.

Most everything about life right now is both deeply essential and muted. We’re instructed to leave our houses only for necessary work or supplies, and only touch those we live with (which could mean no one at all). Every decision carries the weight of literal life and death. And yet every action feels like a photocopied version of reality, like we’re in a holding pattern until life gets switched back on. The virtual tours and classes are no different. Human interaction, however it happens, feels newly vital. But mostly, these tours and experiences don’t provide that any more than watching Too Hot to Handle on Netflix does. The majority of them are one-way entertainment, good enough if the topic interests you, but the equivalent of an interesting PBS special. And even when they are slightly more interactive, there is no lasting release. You say goodbye, feeling smarter or tipsier or full. The video sputters and freezes and then it ends, and you’re still in your living room, with no one to even ignore you.

Anyway, I love Cosmos now, so at least there’s that.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2A0rvW5 via Blogger https://ift.tt/3c516V4

[nothingbythebook]

It’s been a rough week, and I’m seeking solace in solitude… and the library.

My hometown boasts the second most used public library system in North America, and we’ve recently received what is probably the most beautiful public library in the world. Designed by American-Norwegian architecture firm Snøhetta and Canadian firm DIALOG after the two firms’ joint bid won a design competition in 2013, the new Calgary Central Public Library was recently named one of Time Magazine’s World’s Greatest Places to Visit in 2019.

The building is so beautiful, the first time I walked through it, I burst into tears. It has quickly become the meeting place in Calgary. When I’m not sure where to meet someone, or what we should do, I almost invariably say, “Let’s meet at the library, and go from there.” And I’m not the only one—the library is teeming with people, always.

Books are dying, literacy is dying, culture is dying? Please. Not in Calgary, not at our library.

When I visit the library on my own, as today, I have a series of rituals and routines I follow. First, I walk as high up the four floors as I can without taking the stairs or elevator, on a walk-through ramp that curls along the side of the library. I walk past the incredible children’s area and the cafe—at our library, you can make all the noise you like, kiddies, and also, you can eat and drink, and be merry. And I look at the curated book displays and games and everything, but I don’t handle any books, I don’t stop. I make my way to the very top, and to the reading room.

The reading room is my favourite room in the library and the only “quiet” space: this is the place to come and work, not talk. So I set up my computer, and I write.

When I need a break, I pause, get up from my desk, and walk around the reading room, which showcases the librarians’ choices of books, arranged my topic. There’s usually a Wild West section (we do live in Cowtown after all). And Banned Books. And Graphic Novels. And, and, and…

I let myself pick up a few books and leaf through them, and I might take a photo for future reference. I’m not allowed to read these books. Not yet. I’m still writing.

I go back to my work space. Write. Pause. Browse. Write. Pause. Browse.

When I’m done writing (and I always stop just before I’m empty), I pack up, and start the slow walk down.

Now, I’m allowed to pick up books… and perhaps to take a few home.

Today, though, I’m walking and I don’t have a bag, just my small laptop briefcase. Today, I will not take out any books.

Among the many, many things I love about the library—among the many, many reasons why I think libraries will save the world—is… think about it, I can leave this place with a hundred books. For free.

Calgary Public Library cards are free, by the way. There used to be a nominal $10 application fee for adults. The library eliminated this a few years ago, because access, knowledge, freedom.

There are a dozen, perhaps more, meetings and programmes running in the library at any given time. The library offers free programming on—god, everything. Financial planning, coding, lego building, science, fashion—and, of course, literacy.

It has artists in residence and writers in residence.

And new art in its public space.

Today, I get to “meet” photographer Samuel Obadero, and his exhibit, “The Forgotten Ones.”

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I also spend some time in the Create Space area, pondering some tough questions.

The Create Space is part of the library’s commitment to “Supporting brave conversations and generous gatherings that build understanding.”

You know. The conversations that will change the world.

I get sidetracked by books—thoughtfully curated by the librarians. This one catches my eye:

But it’s a brick. And I’m walking. And I am not getting any books today. I snap a picture to place a hold on it in the future.

I am not getting any books… Damn. Wait…

Well… but these are very light.

I get books.

I pass a group of citizens and tourists getting a tour of the library. It ranges in age from teenagers to octogenarians, and the enthusiasm with which they listen to the (ridiculously enthusiastic) tour guide makes my heart sing.

A family of five, Calgary locals, is visiting the library for the first time today. The father is trying to muster them along, because he wants to get to the reading room. But he’s lost the mother to a bookshelf, and the kids are staring, wide-eyed, at the balloon arch near the cafe.

I think about taking my books to the cafe. But not today. Not today. I still have to visit the drinking birds, massive sculptures by  Los Angeles-based artist and teacher Christian Moeller.

The birds make me happy and give me hope, in much the same way the library makes me happy and gives me hope.

As Sadie Trombetta writes in her March 20, 2017 article in Bustle, 7 Reasons Libraries Are Essential, now More Than Ever:

“…libraries have become centers for the movement that supports women, immigrants, people of color, the LGBTQ community, and those facing religious persecution. They are free public spaces that allow everyone to feel safe and to find opportunity.”

As I leave the library, hordes of people are coming in. Citizens, tourists. Young people, old people. White people, brown people. Queer people, straight people. Rich people, poor people.

Moeller’s Drinking Birds bop to welcome them.

[there really should be a Drinking Birds photo here, shouldn’t there? But I didn’t take one and I don’t steal images. So, imagine it… or Google “Calgary Public Library Drinking Bird Sculpture”]

I smile at strangers and they smile back.

In this moment, in this place and space, there is safety, peace, knowledge, potential… hope.

I am so happy, I almost cry.

xoxo

“Jane”

For some better photos of the library than mine, check out this fan-feature on the library in Avenue Magazine: https://www.avenuecalgary.com/city-life/inside-calgarys-new-central-library/

And, of course, the Time Magazine article: https://time.com/collection/worlds-greatest-places-2019/5654128/central-library-calgary-canada/

  If you want to save the world, fund libraries, use libraries, love libraries It’s been a rough week, and I’m seeking solace in solitude... and the library. My hometown boasts the second most used public library system in North America, and we’ve recently received what is probably the most beautiful public library in the world.

[thelatenightsession]

The last day of PAX Australia 2017 and when I need to line up for something outside, THAT’S when the sun pops out again to beat down on my thinning hair line. Buy it was worth it… I finally got to play Sea of Thieves! 🙂

The demo put players into assigned groups so that they could experience the cooperative aspects of the game and it will take some getting used to but I can see it working well for groups willing to help each other. Using a ship really requires help from everyone. The helmsman can’t see a thing due to the sails blocking their forward view so someone needs to jump up into the crows nest to view the landscape. And because they are up there the rest of the crew need to work the sails, anchor and cannons because it takes too long to use them effectively if you are steering or being the lookout.

My Sea of Thieves demo station.

I’m assuming the demo throws you into the deep end (pun intended) because while we attempted to find a lost treasure it wasn’t long before we landed in the middle of the storm, got hit by lighting, ran aground then were sunk by the opposing group. Ship damage requires players to patch up your ship and use buckets to empty water from your vessel so even failure leads to ways that your team is kept busy.

When all else fails and you’re minus a ship and stranded in the middle of nowhere you can search for a mermaid, usually floating just off shore and waving a flare-like device, who will helpfully whisk you back to shore or ship. If your failure proves to be a little more fatal you end up on a ghost ship, forced to wait for a period before you can return. The punishment is there but won’t deprive you from playing the game for too long.

Visually the game is pretty marvellous with an animated look and feel. Characters are exaggerated and bounce around cheerfully. The environments though are really something. The ocean is pretty impressive to see in action and your ship moves in a way that seems realistic in the sense it fits what you expect from the world. Moving around on the deck in a storm is not as simple as you’d think. Combined with the skyboxes and the weather systems that can just roll in storms at the drop of a (pirate) hat I think you could be quite happy just steering around the sea as a crew and enjoying just those sights.

Hard to say more from the gameplay after a twenty minute run but it gives me the kind of vibe I’d expect from a first person / multiplayer version of Sid Meier’s Pirates! which is damned cool. Still hoping to get into the Alpha but if not I think I will be buying this when it eventually arrives on PC and Xbox One in 2018.

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After that Darkelf and I spent some time playing through the Atari 2600 version of Space Invaders in its co-op mode which had a neat little mechanic in that while you shared lives during the game, death would result in a little bonus to your buddy’s score. Totally forgot about that one! 🙂 After that it was the arcade version of Rampage which still comes across as a fun distraction even now.

Toward the end of the day we got to speak with the guys from Weird and Retro and ausretrogamer who turned out to not just be massive Atari 8bit fans but perhaps the greatest Lynx collectors in the history of Atari’s little handheld that might’ve. Like yesterday I’m really considering working on my collection further. 🙂

The last event for the day was the final of the Omegathon with two players duking it out for the title of champion of this year’s PAX. This one had a local spin to it with the game being Crossy Road… Now that might seem a little too easy but there was another twist to it in that it would be played using a custom built balance board! Three rounds of fifteen attempts each and a clear winner wasn’t determined until the very end of the last round.

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My time at PAX this year has been a lot more relaxed and perhaps I’ve been able to appreciate it more as a result. I didn’t try to go and see every single thing but had enough time to wander around and see what I thought was cool or interesting. It certainly seems that Melbourne is a favourite location of the Penny Arcade team so hopefully it’s going to stay here for the foreseeable future. If it does I’ll keep on showing up… it’s been five years so far and I still keep looking forward to the next year.

PAX Australia 2017 – Day 3 Impressions The last day of PAX Australia 2017 and when I need to line up for something outside, THAT'S when the sun pops out again to beat down on my thinning hair line.

[lesliepump]

How Lawyers Work: Jordan L. Couch, Plaintiff’s Trial Lawyer & Legal Futurist

In this week’s edition of How Lawyers Work, we hear from Jordan L. Couch,  a compensation attorney at Palace Law in University Place, Washington. Jordan has a variety of experiences in the legal field but now focuses primarily on helping injured workers obtain the full compensation they deserve. Outside of work, Jordan spends time teaching advocacy to future generations of lawyers at the University of Washington School of Law and the Seattle University School of Law.

You can follow Jordan on both Twitter and LinkedIn. 

What apps or tools are essential to your daily workflow?

I’ve designed my workflow around three goals: (1) nothing is ever forgotten; (2) efficient use of mental space; and (3) strict priorities. This keeps me from going insane or missing deadlines, but it has also made me entirely dependent on a few apps. Most importantly Clio, Trello, and Slack. Everything I do and every event or appointment is recorded in Clio. All of my tasks are put in Trello and given due dates. Slack (in addition to being how I communicate with the office) in essence picks up the slack. If I’m away from Trello or have a short note, I record it in slack and set reminders to make sure I come back to that and get it properly recorded.

All of this has made me highly attached to my phone. I’m obsessive about recording everything and I tell people who ask me questions or come to me with tasks to record them in the same way. As a litigator, I have to keep a lot of information in my mind so for the day to day workflow, I always tell people that if it’s not in Clio, Trello, or Slack it doesn’t exist and it won’t get done.

What does your workspace look like?

It’s a half fishing lodge, half tech startup, with just a touch of wine bar. At least the physical office. These days I can and do work from anywhere. I’m currently on a beach in San Diego drinking tea and enjoying the beautiful sun. When I work from home I prefer to sit in the window seat looking out over Freeway Park and the city of Seattle. But when I’m in the office it’s a tad more orderly. The whole building is decorated with antique fishing equipment, leather furniture, and a fireplace at the entrance. Some of that fishing vibe makes its way into my office.

Click to view slideshow.

I’ve never been one to take life too seriously and dealing with clients requires a lot of seriousness and stress so I have tried to make my office a bit more relaxed. I have your typical stress balls, but also a hackysack and a deck of cards I’ve been known to throw at targets about the office. In one corner I have a large red bean bag chair I like to work from. In another, I have a bookshelf with case files and another with books and articles I have enjoyed (mostly but not exclusively legal). Perhaps the most surprising thing is a large wine rack filled with empty wine and artisan cider bottles. In addition to being a fun decoration, my boss and I use it as a catalogue of things we like.

How do you keep track of your calendars and deadlines?

Clio and Trello. With a few extra tools on the back end, some of which we have built ourselves and some of which can be synced to Clio and Trello. Because of the high case load everything with a deadline gets run through a system we built that creates multiple reminders and triple checks everything, including putting notices on calendars and Trello boards.

What is your coffee service setup?

Despite my years in Seattle I am not and have never been a coffee drinker. We serve a variety of coffee from two Keurig machines and a large drip coffee machine but I have yet to touch any of it. My boss has also been known to come through with little espressos he makes in his office. While I love this smell I always let it pass by and stick to tea. We have a lot of that in the office as well and a hot water purifier/dispenser. I usually go high caffeine in the morning (English Breakfast or Earl Grey) and taper off in the afternoon (white or green tea) and into a caffeine-free night (chamomile or orange peel).

What is one thing that you listen to, read, or watch that everyone should?

Anything by Maria Konnikova. She has two books now; Mastermind: How to Think Like Sherlock Holmes; and The Confidence Game. She also has a podcast called The Grift.

What is your favorite local place to network or work solo?

There’s a great brewery in Seattle called Optimism. I have done a lot of networking there, even more board game playing, and occasionally some weekend work. It’s a small brewery with about 12 beers on tap at a time. I’ve never had one that wasn’t phenomenal. They allow dogs in and have a patio out back where food trucks park and outdoor games can be played.

What are three things you do without fail every day?

Read something for fun, play with an animal (usually a dog or a cat, but I’ve been known to play with snakes, lizards, and the occasional wallaby), and spend time outside (running, hiking, fishing, camping, or even just sitting and enjoying the views from a park).

Who else would you like to see answer these questions?

Shreya Ley, John Hardie, Munish Bharti, Forrest Carlson

How Lawyers Work: Jordan L. Couch, Plaintiff’s Trial Lawyer & Legal Futurist was originally published on Lawyerist.com.

from Law and Politics https://lawyerist.com/how-lawyers-work-jordan-l-couch/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[jmjafrx]

Trina in the Desert

“Trina is a design fiction that takes the form of a 3-part pecha-kucha that can be performed live, viewed as a narrated slideshow online, or read in print as a graphic novel. Conceived by Anne Burdick in collaboration with writer Janet Sarbanes (Army of One), the show-and-tell of this short story follows Trina, a literary scholar who works in solitude in her house in the desert. Trina’s adjunct status requires her to take on text analysis H.I.T.s (human intelligence tasks) to make ends meet. Through Trina’s eyes we see the always-on lively digital world that is her daily reality and within which the mystery of a cryptic, typewritten document unfolds.”

    More things seen at DH + Design in May. Anne Burdick, in one of the keynotes, shared work on Trina and design fiction on the second day. At some point, I’ll post micha cárdenas work which does something possible similar as far as design fiction, game theory, and imagining possible futures as well from a trans woman of color perspective. That said, although the visual makes it clear Trina is a white woman or white presenting woman of color, whiteness and a social construction of white womanhood don’t appear to be built into her (Trina’s) design…except to the extent that race-neutral and gender-neutral design tends to default to whiteness because it doesn’t make it’s positionality explicit?

Which is to say, in plain English–this was very interesting to watch and hear more about because a woman of color could be inserted visually into the narrative without necessarily having to edit the text.

*record scratch*

Hmm….unless the woman is indigenous. Out in the flats of the desert, would her relationship to looking out at the land and her internal monologue around that be different? Would she see the land and not see empty space, rabbits, and coyotes, but something else? I need to think more on this, but I think so….

As far as pedagogy, an interesting project for a class–design your own Trina story.

Burdick is behind the Micro Mega Meta Project which uses design to ask questions about where the humanities is going (if it is going the way of the big, the corporate, and, considering the Trina narrative, the militaristic):

“Historically, the Humanities has been responsible for the maintenance and interpretation of the cultural record‚ a record that now grows exponentially. Much of the work of the Humanities could be described as micro—close reading and deep interpretation of individual artifacts and small collections. The Humanities has also been home to the meta—philosophical inquiry, critical theory, comparative analysis, and history….

“Micro Mega Meta will use design to consider what the qualities and capacities of such information environments might be through design experiments and writing informed by software studies, science and technology studies, digital humanities, and speculative critical design. Ultimately, Micro Mega Meta hopes to make an argument for the contributions design can make to new modes of knowledge production.”

  via Diaspora Hypertext, the Blog http://ift.tt/2sN8YGI

[easyfoodnetwork]

You can tour a museum at 9, take a mixology class at 11, and swoop over Machu Picchu at 3, but do these online versions of “doing stuff” really scratch the itch? Most of us are currently missing things like Outside and Proximity to Other Humans. For the lucky ones, at least, monotony and loneliness are our most prominent enemies, as we stare down seemingly endless nights of Netflix and bean soaking, longing for the day we can experience somewhere else. If you run a business that requires anyone travel from one place to another, this means that you’re particularly reeling. Airline capacity is down 73 percent, hotels are empty, and even the potential reopening of restaurants and bars comes with heavy caveats. Because of that, brands like Airbnb, Viator, Google, and various tourism councils have begun offering virtual “experiences,” so that hypothetically you both keep spending money and also don’t die of boredom. But can paying to stare at a screen for culture really rescue you from the monotony of staring at Twitter? Or are they, you know, both screens? Broadly, there are two types of experiences happening today. First, there are interactive classes and group activities, where you can learn to make pasta or Irish step dance or listen to a museum docent talk about statuary on a video call — all with other people looking to emerge from this time with a new skill set. In Philadelphia, one restaurant owner is trying to mimic the experience of dining out. He video calls you for your order and then, once it’s delivered, calls back to check in on your wine and see how everything is. Aside from the fact that they take place over a video call, these experiences are pretty close to their in-person counterparts: you sign up for a particular time and date, you follow directions, and supposedly you learn something, or at least pretend you’re in a restaurant. Can paying to stare at a screen for culture really rescue you from the monotony of staring at Twitter? And then there are the experiences that aim to “immerse” you in some locale that is not your apartment, whether that’s Rome’s colosseum or an orchard of cherry blossoms in Japan or the British Museum. Often, the entirety of the experience is just a 360-degree camera or other pre-recorded video footage of a beautiful place, and sometimes it’s free. Maybe for a brief moment it will seem as if you aren’t on the couch with your partner who won’t stop bouncing every time they try to catch a tarantula in Animal Crossing, but instead are surrounded by skulls and a haunting breeze in Paris’s catacombs. Or seeing the Faroe Islands through the eyes of a local with a camera strapped to their shirt and whose movements you can control with a joypad (yes, this is real, and no, it does not seem ethical). Both of these types of experiences are not new, except for the joypad thing. Virtual cooking classes and workouts are offered by plenty of companies, and Google has long allowed you to tour the world’s museums, or plant yourself in the middle of a national park on Google Earth. Normally, these offerings are an invaluable tool for those who don’t have the ability — whether financially or physically or because there’s only so much time — to visit these spaces in person. Personally, I’ve avoided them all. Aside from the occasional video yoga class, it just didn’t seem worth it — too much potential for technical difficulties, too easy to open Twitter in another tab. Plus, I could just go there if I really wanted. But now that the pandemic has wiped out any in-person plans for the foreseeable future, boredom is my primary struggle. I finish work and move from my dining table to my couch, queueing up another movie or TV show or video game. The idea of a plan, of something to look forward to, feels increasingly distant — and online experiences increasingly appealing. Can they actually fulfill our collective void of “doing,” or just highlight how far we are from ever “experiencing” in person again? I decided to fill up my calendar again to find out — or at least see if I could forget about the confining walls of my apartment, even for a few minutes. The instructions for Airbnb’s “GINspiration History & Cocktails at Home” said that points would be given for the best outfit, so I put on earrings and an actual shirt before signing on. The company best known for providing vacation and short-term rentals offered “experiences” — both real-life and virtual — before the spread of COVID-19, but has taken care to promote the latter on its homepage recently. You can learn to cook tacos or pasta or tapas, or watch a man wandering the streets of Prague in a plague doctor costume as you learn about the Black Death. My hour-and-a-half long class promised the bartender would teach me to make some great gin cocktails, as well as tell me a bit about the history of the spirit itself. It took place at 11:30 in the morning EST (the host was in England) but time is meaningless now, right? I assume I won the best outfit contest, as I was the only student. Signing onto what you assume will be a bustling Zoom chat only to find yourself the only one there is a little like showing up early to a party; it’s deeply embarrassing for no specific reason, and the only way through is to act like being a party of one is your favorite thing. We waited a few minutes for the other student who had signed up, but he never came. He is my enemy now, and I began the class feeling resentful that I had no other participants to hide behind, and that I had to make an extra grocery run to pick up the limes and juices necessary for cocktail prep. These should have been provided for me, I thought. There should have been more people. It shouldn’t be like this. But as I listened to my instructor’s story about accidentally spilling a bright pink Cosmo all over a bachelorette’s white dress, I realized I was experiencing what felt like something new after weeks of monotony: talking to a stranger. For an hour and a half the bartender and I chatted, he told jokes, we traded stories and watched each other’s reactions, I drank a French 75 on an empty stomach, and he taught me how to make daiquiris and Cosmos as well, because I came woefully unprepared in the ingredients department. And I know it’s a bartender’s job to make everyone feel like their friend, but I felt like his friend, which meant I felt like my kitchen was a bar. The magic worked, and I’m not sure if my socialization itch would have been scratched had that other guy (still my enemy) showed up. So I tried another one. I have been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art countless times in my life. As a New Yorker, I can name my price and visit my personal highlights on any rainy day — the Arms & Armor section, the Asian and “Arab Lands” wings, jewelry, “Inferno” by Franz von Stuck. The Met is currently offering 360 degree video of some of its corridors, but to see any art up close right now, I had to sign up for a tour with Walks. The hour-long tour promised a docent would uncover the “scandals and secrets that lie behind some of the artifacts in America’s greatest art collection,” and an art lecture would mean I’d experience the Met in a way I haven’t since I was a kid on a class trip. I realized I was experiencing what felt like something new after weeks of monotony: talking to a stranger. Our docent first started by highlighting all the benefits of an at-home video tour, as if we had a choice. On a normal day we’d probably have to wait outside in a line, waddle through security, and check our coats before seeing any art. Now, he joked, we could be “naked with a glass of cabernet” on hand, and because our “tour” took the form of a slideshow of images, we could zip from the Egyptian wing to “Washington Crossing the Delaware” nearly instantly. In the museum it would have been a 15-minute walk. Our docent clicked through works I’d never stopped to notice before, and famous paintings I’d never really considered that deeply. I learned who Madame X was in John Singer Sargent’s portrait, and that Monet’s water lilies were more staged than I’d previously imagined. I regretted that I’d spent so much time at the Met cycling through what I already knew. But I found myself missing that 15-minute walk. Our tour was an hour long and featured 87 PowerPoint slides. As soon as we were done with one painting we hopped to the next, leaving barely any time for our new knowledge to sink in. I pictured myself in the alternate-universe version of the tour, following a man holding a flag, maybe chatting with a stranger on the tour about what he’d just said as we weaved through galleries, feeling whether the energy of the group was “bored” or “amused” or “laughing politely.” Our video host turned off everyone’s cameras, so I couldn’t even see the nine other participants’ faces as our docent spoke, or allow him to see my genuine laughs at any of his jokes. I joined to stave off the loneliness, but once the call was ended, I felt newly alone. In an online conference hosted last week by Arival Online, a resource specifically for the tours and attractions companies, members of the tourism industry gathered to discuss the pros and pitfalls of virtual tours, and whether they were worth investing in. The short answer was yes. Andy Lawrence of Vox Group (no relation) noted that this is what business will be like for a while. “From that we know social distancing will become a norm, and the easiest way to deal with this is to give someone the power to take a tour how and when they want,” he said. However, he denied it was a long-term solution, as people can get free videos of monuments and museums on YouTube. Online education may be a need now, but there’s no telling how long it’ll last. But others noted it didn’t seem like interactive tours were really competing with the videos on YouTube. “I don’t see it as a full replacement for travel, but a new initiative that’s complementary for travel when we get back to normal,” said Matthijs Kefi of Withlocals. After all, streaming a video is one-way. “Our hosts also want to connect with other people, everyone likes that interaction.” The point of a guided tour or a lesson is rarely just the accumulation of new information. We had cookbooks and Wikipedia before the pandemic. What we want is people. Public anonymity is one of the things that keeps me in my hometown of New York. I’ve cried in parks, in museums, and at well-renowned bars. I’ve sat quietly with my thoughts at crowded restaurants, and I’ve had life-changing conversations in front of world-famous monuments. Some of the most important things have happened to me while I’ve been shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers. Now, all of these things happen on my couch. There is no white-noise of humanity to provide cover to my sobs or my half-baked ideas. I am not anonymous, but alone, and the thing I am missing the most is being in public with strangers. What I wouldn’t give right now to attend a book reading, have a drink, or look at a painting with people I’ll never know. What I miss about the world isn’t being told about an artist’s life by a docent. It’s meandering through a museum, talking to my partner about why a newly seen painting is hitting us, quietly experiencing the beauties of life alone in company. As soon as I named this craving for myself I started feeling it in anything else I tried to do. I clicked around a virtual tour of Machu Picchu where tourists in bucket hats and cargo shorts stand frozen and warped by the circular camera. I tried to recall what the wind felt like on my own trip there over a decade ago, but I could only focus on what it would be like to overhear another person’s conversation. I looked at cherry blossoms blooming in Prospect Park, and thought of the last time I was there, which happened to be the same weekend as the West Indian Day Parade so the Japanese garden was juxtaposed with booming dancehall music from the street. I tried “going” somewhere I’d never been before, the Great Wall of China, only to find myself focusing more on a tourist squatting while drinking a water bottle than any of the sights. “The same” is too high a bar to set for these experiences. Nobody is advertising that these virtual tours and classes will provide an identical experience to one in person, but rather they’re a way to support docents and guides and bartenders who would otherwise be out of work. But even then, it’s too easy to recall the other version of this experience, the one where your conversation isn’t studded with glitching video, where you can shake the bartender’s hand after he’s taught you how to make a lemon twist, where even after you’ve found a quiet spot at the top of Machu Picchu where it feels like you’re the only person in the whole world, you can walk back down and watch everyone else having their own moments of transcendence without ever having to ask them about it. Most everything about life right now is both deeply essential and muted. We’re instructed to leave our houses only for necessary work or supplies, and only touch those we live with (which could mean no one at all). Every decision carries the weight of literal life and death. And yet every action feels like a photocopied version of reality, like we’re in a holding pattern until life gets switched back on. The virtual tours and classes are no different. Human interaction, however it happens, feels newly vital. But mostly, these tours and experiences don’t provide that any more than watching Too Hot to Handle on Netflix does. The majority of them are one-way entertainment, good enough if the topic interests you, but the equivalent of an interesting PBS special. And even when they are slightly more interactive, there is no lasting release. You say goodbye, feeling smarter or tipsier or full. The video sputters and freezes and then it ends, and you’re still in your living room, with no one to even ignore you. Anyway, I love Cosmos now, so at least there’s that. from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2A0rvW5

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