whaq

[whaq]

i know tumblr is a very america-centric/west-centric site and everyone’s tired of world news but i feel like saying this anyways

tw: philippine politics

We may have a dictator in office by tomorrow :^)

We have a son of the country’s most infamous dictator who sunk the country in debt and painted the capital red with innocent blood who may win the presidency :^D

We have so many people willing to turn away from the fact thousands of people were tortured and murdered by this political family due to mirage of an economic golden age heralded by a bumbling fool who never held down a job nor pursued a college degree :^)

I am so, so disappointed and horrified.

And I can’t say I’m surprised with how much of this election was rigged from the get-go.

I’m writing this at 19:20 PST, with about 53% of the ballots counted. I can only dream that the opposition wins by morning.

[whaq]

Gunpla Construction and Grandeur Delusion (Transcript)

If you'd like to see the video this script was used in then head over to: https://youtu.be/D4HcAiVBKpc So I recently got into Gunpla. As to why I’ve gotten into weeb Lego… well, there are a few reasons. While I’ve never been a fan of the Gundam franchise, I’ve always been into the aesthetics of them. There’s an aura of nostalgia that emanates from the image of the original RX-78-2 Mobile Suit. Which is strange given I was born in 2002 and Gundam first made its appearance in… the jurassic period.

I like how Gundam look retro in the way they exemplify just how people in the past believed the future would look like.

Gunpla is a portmanteau of Gundam Plastic Model. And what sets them apart from most other toys and collectibles is exactly that. You have to build them yourself.

Inside the box is a series of plastic sprues. These frames contain all the parts that snap together after freeing them from their polystyrene prisons.

At the bottom of the box sits a step-by-step instruction manual that conveys all its directions through pictures. It even has helpful little signs that tell you what NOT to do. You’d have to be an absolute idiot to ignore one of these. I love this nifty booklet because it legitimately tells you what to do and how exactly to do it. Keeping you on the right path to getting a 144th scale model of a Zaku II into your hands by the end. As long as you follow the steps.

That said, anyone who enjoys Gunpla knows that holding the final product in your hands is only a fraction of the fun. There truly is something to be said about the fulfillment that creating something gives you. It’s an innately human desire to wanna make something with your hands. It’s what’s kept us going all these years: creation, in all of its forms.

All that’s why I’ve taken a liking to these little kits. But, admittedly, there’s more to it.

It was around this time two years ago when the first series of lockdowns came. I was at a coffee shop when the proclamation happened, it was the weekend of my birthday.

I hadn’t the faintest idea that it would be a long while before I'd be able to step out onto the world like that again. I hadn’t the slightest inkling that when I finally DID get to take that step outside it would be on ground I wouldn’t recognize.

I don’t think any of us have a clear view of what the future could look like. None of us even knew what to expect of the first week of quarantine. These last two years remain evidence of all that. And there’s certainly not enough comfort to be found in the unknown to give us the strength to run fearlessly into it.

Everything that followed was, in every sense of the word, “unprecedented.” This generation had yet to face such a moment that was both historic and universal in its being historic. We were raised in a world that was entwined in fiber optics, wrapped around information, interconnected in instant communication. And then all of a sudden, the generation of seenzones and facetime had to rely on their communicative creature comforts now more than ever.

With our eyes staring at our black mirrors, we realized just how empty-feeling the void always was, and what was now missing to keep it from sucking us in. None of us knew how to live without each other, relishing in the joys of a world no longer with us.

We searched for answers, a sign things were going to get better, but it’s tough to learn from history still being written. And with all the time in the world, and all the solitude one could ask for, we had nothing to accompany us but a digital pastiche of those we know… and ourselves.

When one has nothing to do, their mind is left to wander. I too found myself traveling in the deserts of my mind and found that what looked to be potable springs were really just mirages as I’ve always feared.

Creative blocks are a thing, yes, and some of the best creators still go through it. I, on the other hand, came to the conclusion that it was less a block and more so a dam of my own construction.

This time LAST year, I was relying on the leaks in this barrier to keep myself sane. I was searching for something. ANYTHING to prove I’m capable of what I hoped I was capable of.

But then I got back into bad habits of capturing the glimmer of inspiration in my hands only to let it die of hunger in a cage locked behind my own inferiority.

As my hands ached to do, my mind raced to ask, my insecurity jumped to keep them locked.

On the bright side, I at least get to scoff at the irony of going through a mental civil war on the daily over an impotent mind palace. All that’s there are words unwritten, scenes unshot, thoughts kept to myself.

A year has passed since I made anything to completion, and I’ve still got nothing to show for it. It eats away at me every day and keeps me in an unending cycle of dissatisfaction.

But…

After five hours and a couple of nailfiles later, at least I got this cool green robot that I can put on a shelf and tell myself “hey, I made that.”

Good day to you all, and if I don’t see you tomorrow: good afternoon, good evening, and good night.

[whaq]

How Do You Write Like You're Running Out of Time: Hamilton and Me

I. Just You Wait

Hamilton was alright. Not the best opener is it? I’m not referring to the show, I meant the opener to this verbose verbal vomit. The musical was typical fare, all things considered. Lin Manuel Miranda is the farthest thing from a good singer. I believe anyone singing his praises should take a listen to his rendition of Jesus Christ Superstar’s Gethsamane. Talk about taking your shot… to the gut.

It still kinda baffles me how a show so unexpectedly and unremarkably unprovocative found such a huge cult following; the likes of which the musical world has yet to match since. Overlooking the novelty of a Founding Father finessing like the Fresh Prince, the musical fits the mold of presenting the concepts of rap and immigrants for the first time to the aristocratic white people (y’know the ones, they probably called it “hippity-hop” and are currently collecting their stimulus check amid the pandemic) who could actually afford it.

There’s a lot to be said when it comes to meta-textual analysis. Contrary to the marketing’s emphasis on “The Room Where It Happened” seemingly depicting a story meant to peek behind the curtain of politics, the eponymous song actually does present a better alternative to House of Bars (alternative jokes include: The West Side, Bars & Recreation, and The Fire).

II. The Room Where It Happens

There’s an element of mysticism that surrounds the number ‘The Room Where It Happens” thanks to the inconsistently charismatic narrator of the show: Aaron Burr (Sir--). With only the three gentlemen involved with that day’s events being in that room, much of the going-on’s details are shrouded in mystery. No servers, no stenographers, spies, nor sluts, to witness history in the making. It’s any wonder how history gets recorded at all! Question of the hour...

Hamilton’s downfall in the play, all leading up to his descent into the proverbial ‘Hurricane,’ would not be as impactful if not for his most precious desire. We’ve seen it first-hand, all politicians need to do during a scandal is to “talk less, smile more.” Although... $130,000 in hush money excluded from your tax returns should do the trick-- [President Obama complete remarks at 2015 White House Correspondents' Dinner (C-SPAN) 16:48 - 16:59] No, not if you want to protect your legacy.

III. Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?

There are many perspectives on the subject of how one lives on well past their time on Earth, and Hamilton has its fair share. Aaron Burr references a fallen colleague of his being given a street named after him and how it makes his “legacy secure.” Making idols, commemorations, names on a parchment, the epitome of memorability. You may be gone, but your name remains physically engraved on plaques and local parks.

At first, it seemed like Alexander also subscribed to a similar outlook. By imprinting himself on literature, legislature, and ladies, he found a way to almost literally leave his mark on everything he’s had his hands on. Hell, the show left out the relevant factoid that his 2nd freaking son was his junior. He’d rather die than let the Hamilton name Burr away, and that’s exactly what he did.

That being said, it doesn’t take a keen eye to realize that the self-destructive behavior these men exhibit isn’t exemplary by any means. The play depicts the consequences of the paths these men take. Burr ends up being painted as an apolitical squirrel, Alexander a self-indulgent tomcat. While their legacies remain, they’re tarnished by shame. If these great men still strived and struggled to cement their legacies, then what chance do we have?

Many of us, if not most, will barely be but a footnote in history. We can’t all be president, the same book can’t be written twice, there is no solitary thought that has yet to be thought of. However, even with all this in mind, it never stops us from trying, does it?

We still attempt to paint like Gogh, write like Tolkien, or waste human space like 6ix9ine (this was written in July of 2020 and it was dated then too), for life has little meaning or value without purpose; that’s exactly what’s been on my mind: Who will tell my story if I have nothing to leave behind?

IV. Palaces Out of Paragraphs

How do others do it? How do they just snap their fingers and… well-- do? Do what, you ask? Nothing in particular, it is the act of doing that I refer to. With hustle culture being the trend, many people like me have found that making the most out of their existence is a more daunting task than it’s cracked up to be. When others are so good at doing, are you doing nothing in comparison?

I’m not one to judge others so I’ll only be doing so for myself: I believe I have not been doing anything productive with the time I’ve been given. Every waking moment of mine has been spent either attempting to maximize my time and energy to do something worthwhile or bereaving on the lack of my drive to execute. This, however, is obviously an uphill battle for me.

When everything , your mind, your body, and even yourself, are against you, the last tool in the arsenal of human perseverance is the ability to do what one wills. The phrase shouldn’t be “if there’s a will there’s a way,” for many of us have found ourselves in no-win scenarios. Instead the phrase should be “if there’s a will, there’s a way out.” And there is a way out of the rut that is dissatisfaction.

Most conflict within one’s self is the disconnect between our ideal self, who we want to be, and our actual self, who we currently are. One may find themselves longing to become a strong-willed scribbler of scripts like Hamilton, it takes no more than a glance at your reflection to see that, when the rose tint decays, you’re a sniveling Burr. This is where the pain stems from, my pain.

Ambition and reality will always be at odds with one another. When one desires to leap over skyscrapers, actuality reminds you that you can barely skip over an anthill. That’s kind of what has been bothering me. For years I’ve seen those capable of what I could only dream of doing, and that has always bothered me. Not my pride, but my sense of who I really am.

I desire to leave a legacy that depicts me as larger than my life, what I leave behind being greater than what I have done; a kingdom left prospering after my reign. My lofty aspirations extend to being renowned, and contract to being remembered fondly. But the sad reality for I, and many others like me, presents itself: we can’t all make leaps and bounds that impress, most people aren’t so easily enamored.

Not having this in mind has resulted in my complete inability to create and finalize. For a person with each of their toes dipped into a different pool of expertise, I can barely muster up the strength to continue to submerge, much less immerse, myself into any of them. Looking into the dark Mariana Trench of inadequacy one sees as their skillset will induce aquaphobia in many.

Beyond all pretension and rhetoric, my issue is this: I can’t make anything because I fear I will make nothing worth making. This is already the 5th rewrite of this maligned monotribe, that in and of itself exemplifies how I’m not quite past that hurdle. That being said, I’m looking forward to and deciding on taking steps to amend that.

V. Taking Back The Narrative

This text marks the beginning of another attempt at reinvention. With limit tests spanning over the course of two years, involving stressing the definitions of human minimums and maximums, I am content with commencing continued coercion with my consciousness (translation: I’m letting the process of improving continue despite my fear of the absence of such). I took back to writing once more because I needed something to stare at that convinced me I’m capable of the things I want to do, but also that there’s no rushing or forcing things.

It is honestly kinda silly how someone like me, who has made it their life goal to show that passion and wit is enough to get someone through the typical things in life like work, school, and relationships, had to be reminded of that very mission.

I’m not blessed with any genius in particular, and I’m not nerdy Casey Neistat who runs at the speed they can create meaningful and worthwhile content. Holding myself to higher standards was supposed to be a healthy way of preventing stagnation, not a destructive process to kill my motivation.

After going through the Hurricane of my own inner turmoil, realizing that being ‘Lucky to be Alive Right Now’ doesn’t have to come with survivor’s guilt, and that there is no such thing as ‘Running Out of Time,’ for all time cannot be wasted, I’m once again going back into the swing of things. Just like my last relaunches, all beginning with varying degrees of premature declarations, I’ll be doing the same right now.

I have made something

for all intents and purposes

I wrote my way out

[whaq]

Things that go bump in the mind: a creative non-fiction story

In my final Literature class, I was given a writing prompt to fulfill by the end of the day: we were to write about real events related to death in the style of creative non-fiction. I had always wanted to tell the story about how I ended up having an existential crisis on my way to get ice cream as a child and so I wrote a whole story around it. This is the first narrative piece I've made in years so it's a little amateurish. Enjoy!

I’m seven years old in the back of my father's car, knees on the seat ahead of me to counter the inertia of the moving vehicle. We’re headed home, the details of the events prior to this moment escape me, affirming their insignificance. Little was on my mind, just a never-ending craving for ice cream and an ache in my palms that yearned for a game controller. Without warning, my elementary grade mind found itself in a spiral. The image of a darkness that was blacker than black, coupled with a deafening static only I could hear that shrieked my attention to it. I shed a single tear, this movie star moment unceremoniously ruined by the snot that began dripping down my nose. I didn't know what to do. How do you expect a kid to deal with an existential panic attack? As I wiped my eyes, the words escaped my mouth before I knew it "Dad, I don't want to die." I looked at the rear view mirror, and saw the eyes of a man who just had an essential parenting moment stolen from him by his son's intrusive thought. "Everyone dies," he told me. We drive the rest of the way home in pregnant silence.

Years go by, the car my dad used to take me home that night was the same one he eventually packed his things into before driving away one day, never setting foot in my house again. I’m 10 years old, relying on my mother more than ever. Not as a mother, just a provider. The emotional distance between us was only dwarfed by the distance from her place of work in the Middle East, where she’s expected to return from this afternoon. Just like before, dread springs from a place far beyond my mental periphery. Unlike last time, I’m finally able to process the wave of grief that drowns me, to my detriment.

“People disappear overseas all the time”

“What makes you think she’s coming back?”

“Sometimes planes miss the tarmac”

“What makes you think she’s coming back?”

“When she’s gone, she’s gone for good”

“How are you so sure she isn’t already dea--”

I hear the familiar honk of her SUV, heard even from inside my own head. But I don’t rush down to greet her, embrace her, tell her how much I missed having her around, because that would be disingenuous. It wasn’t that I wanted her there, I just didn’t like the thought of her being gone. I refused to reveal my fear. Some might say I learned the wrong lesson, dodging the Dickensian moral aimed at me. I didn’t learn to hold my loved ones close, I learned of object impermanence.

I stopped taking death seriously when I was 18 years old. I was already desensitized to the daily soap opera that occurred below my bedroom, having been a background extra in it all my life. I go downstairs to find the living fossils at each other’s throats once again. I walk over to my jaded 29 year old of a sister and ask, “what’s all this about?” She allows a sigh to escape from her mouth before she says, “some dirt.” The adults walk over to us, sniffing out the cynicism in the air like a blood trail, and proceed to lecture us on inheritance. “You’re going to have to settle this when we die,” they nag. “We don’t give a shit,” we slur in unison and walk back to our rooms.

I draw a bath, submerging myself into the makeshift womb. As their nagging words drill into my head, it cracks the surface and unearths the trepidation once again, bursting like a geyser of the morbid. My focus lingers towards my legacy, what I’d leave behind, or what I leave to rot. It shifts to my confidants, is there any room in their hearts to grieve for me, in their minds to never forget me? It hovers over my family, if my passing would be a weight on their shoulders or a discount on their suffering. It all melds into a terrifyingly harmonious white noise in my mind; it’s almost... calming. I’m outside, the cloud of finality still over me. I sit on the sidewalk, giving the intrusive thoughts some time to stew for a moment. An unfamiliar white car pulls up in front of me, a more familiar hand wave from the man who raised me peers from the window. “Sounds like they’re at it again, I’m sure they won’t notice you gone for a bit. Wanna go kill some time?” I rush on over to the front passenger seat, it’s a newer model than I’m used to seeing him drive. I settle in, breathe a sigh, and, without thinking, I tell him, “Sure, let’s go live a little.”

[whaq]

Fuck You, Animu (4/4) - Kaguya-Sama: Love is War Episode 12

Learning from their last attempt at a satisfying conclusion, Kaguya-Sama: Love is War Season 2’s finale encompasses all that is great about this series: its characters, its cinematography, and its comedy, while making us look forward to the next move in the geniuses’ war of love and brains. Making a Fujiwara-shaped splash onto the scene at the beginning of 2019, the adaptation of Aka Akasaka’s Kaguya-Sama: Love is War has been gracing its viewers with a glimpse of the hijinks that ensue in the student council room of a prestigious highschool for the rich and famous. The manga’s non-stop comedic antics and sickeningly sweet romance caught the attention of A-1 Pictures (Sword Art Online) as they tapped Shinichi Omata a.k.a. Mamoru Hatakeya (Puella Madoka Magica) to bring the battle of love and brains to our screens.

The first season gave us the heartstring-pulling dynamic between two prideful geniuses: President Miyuki Shirogane, a man who uses his dedication and hardwork to excel in life, and Vice President Kaguya Shinomiya, a lady that utilizes money and influence to get her way, as they pool their knowledge and skills to persuade the other to confess their love. The two tsunderes are joined by their deredere secretary, Chika Fujiwara, who is the embodiment of chaos as we know it, and their depressed dollar distributor, Treasurer Yu Ishigami. Joining the cast this season is Iino Miko, a shy yet surprisingly assertive member of the disciplinary committee who adds to the show’s already massive cast of comedic foils. If you’ve seen and subsequently loved the show’s premiere season, then season 2 (stylized as Love is War?) is sure to surpass the very standards it set previously. The show’s excellent animation has not dropped in quality in the slightest as the animators have seemingly been given even more freedom to experiment with different art styles and somehow even more expressive faces that really hit each of the show’s punchlines home. Contributing to the elevation of the comedy is the voice cast’s performances. The show’s entire cast has returned including Ms. not-emergency-food Koga Aoi as Kaguya who gets even more opportunities to flex her acting range when our usually cold and calculating main girl finds herself in more emotionally-charged situations that break down her ice princess persona. The events of the story itself have also escalated as the relationships between, not just our two main leads, but also their fellow students, have been cemented and are now allowed to be explored in this continuation. While the show still follows the comedic formula of re-treading old situations with new character developments, it does this excellently and never makes the viewer tired of the same gags like Fujiwara teaching Shirogane, or Fujiwara making the student council members play a game, or Fujiwara dumping her issues on them (most of these are because of Fujiwara). All of these positives extend to the season’s finale. Episode 12 consists of two main plots: Kaguya’s Cellphone and A Game Where You Can Pump it as Many Times as You Want but You Have to Pump it at Least Once and Whoever Reaches the Limit Loses which depict chapters 100 and 101 for the first half and 91 for the second. The A-plot that revolves around Kaguya’s connection to her flip phone gives us an intimate peek into our heroine’s feelings. The episode leads into a scenario of the council members being in a photoshoot, of course hijinks ensue. The character of the foreign principal is yet another great addition to the show’s comedic fodder. The way his accent compliments his dramatic line delivery combined with his low-key creep vibes give the diverse cast more to play off of. We’re also shown some wholesome (and not-as-wholesome) fanservice in the form of the pairings that the principal imposes on our reluctant models, complete with bangsless Ishigami and a Fujiwara x Shirogane scene. The B-plot serves as the season’s actual finale but feels more like an epilogue, a good one at that. Fujiwara springs, or in this case pumps, another game onto the student council. We’re given every single kind of humor in this half: physical comedy, referential humor, and even character-specific jokes that poke fun at the surplus of character development in the previous episodes. It all concludes with a (literally) explosive finale of every character doing their best Team Rocket impression and smiling for the camera as they say goodbye for now. Both of these stories do a great job of wrapping up the absolute gift that was the last 11 episodes with a nice conclusive bow. There’s even a moment where the show presents a great version of the “here’s a montage of things you just finished watching” scene when we’re shown alternative perspectives of events in the series that really hits home the sentimentality of it all. Not to mention that moment following an almost one-to-one recreation of the second episode of the first season but with a twist, the show cares about its relationship with the audience and it shows. Kaguya-Sama Love is War? has been a joy-ride from beginning to end. We the audience got to know these well fleshed-out characters, the hilarious ways they interact with one another, and the heart that each of them possess on full-display. I can’t wait to get another look at the lives of Shuchiin’s Student Council now that Season 3 has been announced for 2021. If you can’t wait that long, there’s always the manga that has (at the time of writing) just reached its 208th chapter. So what should you expect from Season 3? Well, to put it lightly: an absolute love-bomb of a development. At the pace that the series has been going, those who’ll stick around for the next season will be able to witness the manga’s most pivotal story moment: The Cultural Festival Arc. Get excited for: Ishigami finally taking some W’s in his love life, Iino potentially making a spot in your next waifu tier-list, and the biggest development in the relationship between Kaguya and Shirogane that truly sets this series apart from disappointing rom-coms (looking at you, Nisekoi)... oh and Fujiwara is there too--. Till then, the battle rages on, and on, and on!

[whaq]

Fuck You, Animu (3/4) - Cells at Work! Episode 7

While still providing the edutainment expected of the series, Cells at Work!’s 7th episode overreaches for your emotions and may have you yelling in anger instead of sobbing in tears as it tackles the topic of cancer.

From the power couple that brought you the community darling Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure’s anime, Director Kenichi Suzuki and David Production’s adaptation of Cells at Work! has brought biology to the mainstream. Based on Akane Shimazu’s debut manga, the series follows a red blood cell and a white blood cell’s day-to-day in the human body where we encounter anthropomorphised versions of the little beings that live within all of us.

A notable element of the series is its effort to use tangential learning to spoon-feed us biology through cute anime girls and surprisingly violent (which is ironic given how the characters consist of literal blood) action scenes. We meet many of our body’s protectors, from the onee-sama Macrophages to the delinquent T Cells that make the biodiversity of the cast impressive. If you want a casual but oozingly creative series to serve as a dose of edutainment, then Cells at Work! is for you.

I binged this series about a year after its original run because My Anime List is as bottomless as it is a cruel reminder of your lack of dedication to it. At the time, I only had a few key thoughts: “I wonder if my little cells feel as bad as I do when I get hay fever every morning,” “Oh my God, look at the cheeks on those adorable little platelets,” and, “Wow, that cancer episode was really something.” People seemed to agree with me on that last thought. Critics like the Anime Pope himself Jared of Mother’s Basement shared in the sentiment that the series’ 7th episode was well done. It humanized something that we humans are very inclined to hate: a malignant cancer cell whose only purpose is to turn our own body against us; a daunting task that anyone who’s tried writing sympathetic villains can tell you. But, after watching the episode again on a whim, the feelings I had on my first viewing suddenly did a complete 180 as I began watching in horror in lieu of sympathy. Here’s  a hot-take: this episode is about Nazi sympathizing and here’s why:

We are taken to the scene of a previous episode where the NK cell is chasing after a suspicious cell that reveals itself to be cancerous. Cancer’s character design and subsequent animation are reminiscent of works like Akira or anything Junji Ito’s had his hands on. It’s gruesome, detailed, and overall as grotesque as it needs to be to get you to fear it. The animation of this fight consists of some decent sakuga as the Cancer cell is able to use its shape manipulation to stretch its limbs and morph them into practically anything. On the other hand, much of the episode’s, and by extension the rest of the series, animation is pretty inconsistent like when NK is seen strafing during Cancer’s speech. We see NK awkwardly slide across the screen while Cancer’s lipflaps remain static during his mini diatribe. “Begging for a Bluray cut” quality animation is the least of the episode’s problems.

Eventually, we’re given a look at Cancer’s backstory, and it is one of the series’ most emotional scenes. We see that the cancer cells are products of an error in cell division and appear with birth defects because of that. A pair of these newborn cancer cells, including our antagonist, attempt to run from the authorities that consist of the Killer Ts and Whites that we’ve grown fond of by this point of the series. In a heartbreaking dialogue, we find Cancer asking his friend if he is “-meant to die as soon as we are born?" This is nothing less than an emotional gut-punch, a nihilistic ponderance I wouldn’t have expected from a comedy. This is immediately followed by his friend being murdered by the guards while Cancer hides. The pained expression on this child that is mirrored on his present counterpart in the next scene really does pull at your heartstrings. The show effectively uses visuals and story to get you to sympathize with cancer, until it doesn’t.

It’s right before the arrival of our heroes that our antagonist is able to pour out his feelings. His people are oppressed and slaughtered for existing, something they obviously couldn’t have had a hand in, and it obviously pains him to see that. Right after this tear-jerking speech, he sprouts a pair of fleshy wings, that are grotesquely beautiful in their own way, which almost immediately have a machete tossed at them by the arrival of the other cells that begin to mercilessly murder Cancer’s people. The amount of thematic dissonance is palpable when you begin to hear the triumphant battle music that underscores the massacre of a race of cells you were just conditioned to feel bad for earlier. Upon defeating him, our other protagonist, White, is asked by Cancer why his people are targeted the way they are “We can’t save you. You violate the rules… hog nutrients and destroy healthy tissue. I can’t let you live… it’s my job.” Upon closer inspection, it’s easy enough to draw the line comparing the cancer cells to any persecuted race. What makes me think of the Jewish specifically is due to the events of the Holocaust, and its subsequent aftermath, that seems to mirror the events of the story. The cancer cells are even shown to be kept imprisoned in a cell full of green liquid, almost like the acid that served as one of the methods the Nazis used to exterminate the Jews during World War II. While Judaism is a religion, not a race, it’s intrinsically linked to people who descend from the original tribes of Israel, which is a huge group of people. It’s estimated that 1.7 million Jews were killed during the Holocaust by the infamously White-Supremacist Nazi Party that relied on propoganda that said Jews were taking all the money in the world and ruining the lives of the “superior race” of whites. Adding to that the display of a soldier just “doing their job” of assisting the genocide of an entire people. Knowing this, is it really too far-fetched to understand why I began gawking at my screen when our Jew surrogate, Cancer, is killed by an army, for the exact same reasons of being thought of as deplorables no less, made up of WHITE blood cells?!

Adding insult to injury, Cancer’s tragic death is then abruptly ended by Red comedically checking up on White as we see Cancer’s corpse desecrated by Looney Tune style black X-marks for eyes; as if his death was nothing more than a joke. As the show’s ending theme played behind scenes of the army celebrating their genocide, I could’ve sworn I heard the lyrics “it’s okay, I’m okay” in the song, that truly was the last straw for me. In a world divided between people who want to defend the defenseless and those who want to further oppress the oppressed, the meta-narrative this episode contains is down-right dangerous.

Thankfully, the rest of the series’ usually light-hearted and comedic antics can serve as a palette cleanser to wash the taste of this episode out. Continuing on from here, you’ll be met with more of the same edutainment you’ve been served so far in Cells at Work!’s last six episodes. If those episodes caught your attention, you’ll want to stick around to learn more about this corporeal incorporation.

[whaq]

Fuck You, Animu (2/4) - Re:Zero Episode 1

With non-stop suspense, compelling characterization, and hints at a greater narrative, Re:Zero’s first episode is sure to keep you coming back to the series over, and over, and over, and ove…

Based on a series of light novels, written by Tappei Nagatsuki and illustrated by Shin'ichirō Ōtsuka, Studio White Fox (Goblin Slayer)’s Re:Zero - Starting Life in Another World is a new contender for the crown of the eponymous isekai (Another World) genre that has recently taken over the anime industry. Is Re:Zero the breath of fresh air the anime community needed to restart the trend of otaku running into oncoming traffic in an attempt to be reborn? Or just another run-of-the-mill zero in this already saturated market?

The series follows Natsuki Subaru, a hikikomori (shut-in) who finds himself suddenly transported into a fantasy world of swords and sorcery. Following in the footsteps of his fellow isekai protagonists, Subaru explores this whole new world with the help of his vast otaku knowledge. Unlike his isekai brethren, Subaru was seemingly transported with nothing more than a jumpsuit,a bag of convenience store goodies, and a surprisingly good physique, for someone who doesn’t leave the house. When he encounters danger in this new domain, he is saved by a white-haired, half-elf, mage whose kindness sparks inspiration in our hero’s eyes. The story continues as Subaru trial-and-error’s his way through this new land, using a new ability he doesn’t quite comprehend, all for the affections of a lady he eventually gets to know as Emilia.

As series openers go, Re:Zero’s first episode serves as a masterclass in how to introduce, not just a story, but its main players too. From the episode’s cold open, you’re immediately pulled to the edge of your seat as we’re given glimpses of the aftermath of a struggle and hear the last words of a man at the edge of his life. Unbeknownst to us, this scene is intercut with shots of this man, who we later find out to be our protagonist, merely living his life as he peruses the aisles of a convenience store. The show’s director, Masahiro Watanabe, of whom this series serves as his directorial debut, flexes his comprehension of cinematic storytelling by utilizing not-so-subtle visuals to convey exactly who Natsuki Subaru is and what kind of life he lives. In a single minute, we see Subaru read manga, cringe at the sight of a couple, and sulk over his life (or lack thereof), showing us exactly how much of a loser our “hero” is.

The character of Natsuki Subaru is, following the conventions of the genre, an audience insert. He’s a down-on-his-luck otaku whose backstory is practically non-existent to make it easier for the viewer to see themselves in his shoes. That said, unlike his contemporaries like Kazuma of Konosuba fame, Re:Zero does not shy away from the darker side of otaku. While the rest of the series hammers this concept home, the first nail in the coffin of this generic archetype is already set from the start. Upon his arrival, Subaru is faced with his first dilemma in the new world: a child who’s about to be hit by a carriage. You’d expect our dashing hero to well... dash in to save him, right? Not Subaru! He instead contemplates on how his grand entrance into the new world should go first before finally deciding to actually try and help. While it might seem like an off-hand gag meant to get a cheap laugh, this self-centered aspect of our protagonist permeates throughout the rest of his journey.

Upon entering this new world, the show greets us with one of its many iconic audio cues: an angelic gasp from the song Rondo of Love and Darkness. The series’ soundtrack is one of its best aspects. Composer Kenechiro Suehiro, who went on to compose the serene yet atmospheric music of Girls Last Tour, was tasked by Director Watanabe to utilize human voices in its tracks, which he uses to great effect. The music is filled with these ominously chilling chants that sound as if they were straight from a circle of Hell. This is heard in the likes of the aforementioned Rondo, and in the show’s ever-meme’d Call of the Witch that trails every pivotal moment in the anime.

Subaru is suddenly mugged by the city’s under dwellers. It’s during this scene that one of the show’s issues arises. Re:Zero has been praised for its subversion of the genre. While this is accurate at times, like how Subaru’s entrance into another world comes in the form of a blink instead of a glomp from truck-kun like his contemporaries, the show seems to think that acknowledging overused genre tropes gives them an excuse to use overused genre tropes. When Subaru sees a girl in the distance while he gets pummeled on, he hopes and prays for her to be the female savior he sees in manga; this hope is immediately dashed when this girl, Felt, turns out to be a thief and completely runs past our groveling protagonist. This, in and of itself, is hilarious and subverts what we the audience expect from this cliche. But then this gag is immediately followed by the entrance of an actual female savior, completely abusing the trust we put into the show to not be like the other isekai.

But all these technical issues are merely second to Re:Zero’s main strength: its premise. Subaru’s first day involves him helping his savior find a lost item of hers and this leads them to a tavern where he finds a pile of blood and corpses, of which he becomes part of as he’s killed by someone off-screen. The show finally gives us context to the cold open when we see that the people gasping for life in the beginning of the episode were Subaru and Emilia. Giving neither Subaru nor the audience time to breathe, we’re immediately taken back to Subaru’s first interaction with a citizen earlier in the episode. Before our protagonist is able to process what has happened, we’re already introduced to the show’s main mechanic: Return after Death.

Return gives the show a constant sense of suspense. Both the viewer and Subaru are having to work with limited knowledge of the situation that can only be broadened after literally dying, making Subaru’s mantra “what DOES kill you MIGHT make you stronger.” Each of Subaru’s retries unearth, not only new information, but also new character interactions. The show’s main appeal is how each of the character dynamics change when Subaru is given new knowledge about them while said character remains stagnant from the last run.  When your main protagonist’s only ability is an unlimited set of checkpoints, he has to rely on his adaptability and resourcefulness which does a good job of keeping conflicts in the show real and real exciting.

In contrast to Return being the highlight of Re:Zero, there are many parts of the episode that are barely worth mentioning. The voice acting feels like nothing special. While Yusuke Kobayashi and Rie Takashi, who play Subaru and Emilia respectively, seem to be good voice actors, they aren’t given much room to showcase their talents as most of the dialogue in the first episode is limited to world-explaining exposition. The animation was also just passable. While the few fight scenes in the episode were clearly animated, there truly is nothing to write home about with regards to the way things are drawn. There’s even the obvious use of CGI for background elements that feels so jarring to look at. Lastly, while most other critics praise the show for its creative world, the first episode doesn’t do it any favors. We’re shown lizard people, generic magic spells, and just another medieval-ish setting along with the same NPC-like side characters you know from RPGs.

Re:Zero’s opening episode is a thrill from beginning-to-end. Its musical score is top-notch, its cinematography is excellent, and the story, along with its subsequent gimmick, aims to set it apart from the rest of the isekai genre while still holding enough of its DNA to sit comfortably within said genre. Its pitfalls into both tropeyness and technical mediocrity are easily ignored by the oozing quality of the sum of its parts.

[whaq]

Fuck You, Animu (1/4)

A dumbass’ war of heart and mind A few months ago, I hit a creative block. Despite considering myself a jack of many mediums, I couldn’t for the life of me bring myself to make--well... anything. While I do have a Google Keep of creative ideas I’ve come up with over the years, I was unable to find the drive (pun shoehorned) to get started on any of them. This sent me into a bit of a spiral. A lot of creatives probably empathize: you find yourself lacking the motivation to create so it starts to negatively affect your self-worth, which is tied to your ability to make things, and this lack of confidence compels you to just succumb to melancholy, finding yourself the victim of a self-fulfilling prophecy to become a slacker because you think you already ARE one.

I was a couple months into this when a buddy of mine hit me up asking if I heard about a call for local anime reviewers. At that moment, it almost felt like divine intervention from God, who I only ever felt in the burning sensation radiating through me whenever I was within 10 feet of a church. An anime news site, let’s call em Animu, with a relatively large following, was searching for writers who would join their staff to review anime being released in the winter season with a salary to boot. As an avid anime fan myself, who just so happened to have honed his critiquing skills over years of media consumption {that has since ruined my viewing experience for the foreseeable future (I legitimately suck the joy out of every piece of media I consume now)}, I saw this as my opportunity to be able to use my skills for some form of monetary gain; which was always a concern of mine throughout my life. Growing up, I was never really good at anything that could easily become a profession later in life. I was too awful at biology to become a doctor, not smart enough at maths to be the next Pythagoras, nor was I athletic enough to shoot a basketball, let alone make it in the NBA. I was good at talking in, and understanding, English... and that was it. At the time, I didn’t realize I had a knack for writing and oration, but even once I did, I found that the trajectory towards being a professional for either of those fields wasn’t so simple. Most people still have the childish idea that “Oh, writers write books and speakers do… speaking things!” but it waters down such a wide yet closed off section of the professional world. Writing alone has so many different specializations: journalism, screenwriting, book authoring, all such niches that don’t have as established a path as scoring high on the Bar exam or being scouted on varsity; it’s difficult to find a place in this world with that skill set, a fear that a majority of creatives have. So I needed some form of validation, an instance of acceptance that’ll allow me to finally believe that my work is worth something and, most importantly, enjoyed by someone. So I started working on my application for Animu by selecting three different series that I was interested in tackling: Re:Zero, Cells at Work, and Kaguya-Sama: Love is War. Starting from zero The posts after this contain these reviews in the state I submitted to Animu. I spent about a month working on these. Re:Zero’s review was close to my usual style of critique, which focuses on the technical aspects and their execution as well as commentary on any relevant subtext, minus the subtext. I wanted to seem as professional as possible with the first one and tried to keep to the proposed 1200 word word limit. With Cells At Work, however, I tried to have a bit of fun. There were many rumblings around the community about the series’ cancer episode which I was eager to capitalize on. That said, upon rewatching the episode, I came across some potentially problematic scenarios that could’ve been blown out of proportion by some headline-chasing media outlet; so that’s exactly what I did. No, I wouldn’t in my right mind compare chibified blood cells to Nazi sympathizers (then again, I’m never in my right mind). Lastly, was Kaguya-Sama, which became my favorite anime of the past couple years. This series was the first anime that got me to actively follow the source material as it hit two of my most identifying traits, being a cinephile and humor academic, as well as a side I’m slightly embarrassed by, my interest in romantic comedies. I wanted to attempt a review that was just hype-hype-hype as it was what the series sparked within me. Oh, and you SHOULD read Kaguya-Sama. Bleeding out After a modicum of proofreading, as well as some peer review from my closest confidants, I sent over my application and I waited. As my heart raced on the day of the announcement, my name was nowhere to be found. To add insult to injury, I was informed that I scored absolutely horribly by Animu’s criteria, my highest grade being one that’d flunk in the most forgiving of schools. While you’d expect me to be crestfallen, I was actually ecstatic to know that the community I’ve been a part of, a local one no less, had people with an even larger passion and greater skills than even I. As someone who went through childhood being made fun of for my interests that have somehow developed into geek chic and gone mainstream (something that, contrary to most of the community, I’m happy to see), I was glad to see how much people like me had developed from waifu worshipping weaboos to outstandingly ornate otaku. Hell, I was content to have made some content. I was looking forward to seeing the fruits of labor from those who were more deserving than me. So imagine my surprise when what I found posted a month later was absolute garbage. I’m not going to get into detail, seeing as said details could lead to someone getting doxxed just because they didn’t meet MY oh so high standards (/s), but what I will say was that the quality of the content indicated something more telling about the whole ordeal. I have taken part in two completely different student publications in my time, and I can say with utmost certainty that THE GRADE SCHOOLERS I MENTORED WROTE BETTER, AND THEY WEREN’T EVEN PAID. Still, it was nice to know I still had it in me to make something of substance. And on this commemorative day, I open up my blog by making public my entries for all to ridicule. As much as I talked down the winning entries, I don’t believe mine were perfect. Like most of my work, it’s rushed and rambly, full of tangents and misnomers. But, it’s very me, and I’m quite happy to see something from me see the light of day.

I hope you find some amusement in my bemusement.

p.s. Yes, the headers are attempts at relating to the three shows p.p.s.s. Yes, they’re BAD attempts at relating to the three shows