December 14, 2007
On the bus today, the CCTV television was broken, showing nothing but static. Which made me think about リング, the Japanese horror movie about a cursed video tape. If the static switched to the video, and it was shown to an entire bus, would it affect everyone on the bus? What about the people who were reading or knitting or just staring out the window? Would Sadako come to the same bus one week later, no matter who was on the bus, or would she come to the people individually? But just the image of a video playing, silently, on a slightly scratched and abused bus CCTV television, people staring at it confusedly. It finishes and they look away, wondering what sort of marketing campaign made something so horrific, when every mobile in the bus starts to ring. A cacophony of ringtones, from the shrill MIDI-based defaults to the rough recorded-off-the-radio homemade ringtones to the slight buzzing from a mobile set to silent. A rush of activity as people dig in coats and bags, pulling out the still ringing mobiles. Some can’t bring themselves to answer, staring at their mobiles and the “NO NUMBER” flashing merrily on the screen. Others quickly divert to voice mail, or turn off their phones, or keep them buried down at the bottom of their bags. But some answer. And through the muffled static and unholy grinding, a whisper cuts through, echoed across several networks, through different handsets, telling everyone: “Seven Days”

On the bus today, the CCTV television was broken, showing nothing but static.

Which made me think about リング, the Japanese horror movie about a cursed video tape.

If the static switched to the video, and it was shown to an entire bus, would it affect everyone on the bus? What about the people who were reading or knitting or just staring out the window? Would Sadako come to the same bus one week later, no matter who was on the bus, or would she come to the people individually?

But just the image of a video playing, silently, on a slightly scratched and abused bus CCTV television, people staring at it confusedly. It finishes and they look away, wondering what sort of marketing campaign made something so horrific, when every mobile in the bus starts to ring. A cacophony of ringtones, from the shrill MIDI-based defaults to the rough recorded-off-the-radio homemade ringtones to the slight buzzing from a mobile set to silent.

A rush of activity as people dig in coats and bags, pulling out the still ringing mobiles. Some can’t bring themselves to answer, staring at their mobiles and the “NO NUMBER” flashing merrily on the screen. Others quickly divert to voice mail, or turn off their phones, or keep them buried down at the bottom of their bags.

But some answer. And through the muffled static and unholy grinding, a whisper cuts through, echoed across several networks, through different handsets, telling everyone:

“Seven Days”

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