This was the scene on the Hawthorne bridge every night for a solid week after the 2016 election: Hundreds to thousands of protesters would gather downtown, commiserating and looking for some kind of catharsis. Streets were paraded down, arms were locked, chants of hope and resistance flooded the air and a much-needed sense of belonging was felt by many.
The Department of Homeland Security has labeled these protests “Domestic Terrorist Violence.”
I guess it’s a different type of attention to detail doctors have.
Jeff was sitting at the opposite end of the couch—this was in Los Angeles, a couple weeks back—and Leah was in the kitchen and we were all talking over the TV debating when to leave to watch John Wick 2. Checking the clock above the television, I said that it was 9:45. Jeff interjected No, that clock is wrong, but as we checked our various devices, they all confirmed the time. They were dumbfounded.
The saying goes that even a broken clock is right twice a day, but this particular clock is never right. It still moves, just at the wrong interval, making the likelihood of actually lining up with the right time of day the type of math I just won’t do anymore.
Make no mistake about it: a broken-ass clock randomly hitting the right time of day once or twice is what last night’s congressional address consisted of. The media is treading dangerously close to the dialogue of normalization by calling Trump taking advantage of dead troops during a national broadcast ‘Presidential.’1
The extent of my energy for politics after waking up and reading that America “needs to win wars again” is nil. This is about the art of cinematic storytelling.
I love a good movie. A solid script with the right cast as seen through an innovative director’s eye. And I want to believe in Hollywood, even with all the bullshit capitalism that has leeched on to the artform. I want to believe that the movie industry still puts the story first, even as it continues to bog us all down with hellish, under-written, re-hashed ideas.1
I want to believe that because of the industry side of the movie industry, some member of the Academy2 found themselves sitting around last week watching the news and realizing that nothing is as surreal as reality right now, and that the best way to give America the cathartic, completely unpredictable and absolutely perfect moment of escape would be to switch the cards on Warren Beatty.
It’s become almost standard practice to accuse the White House of lying in one form or another—a hell of a problem considering how much the President seems to change his mind. Some of his lies—the bigger, meatier ones—start with the truth. For example, his recent over-statements on his electoral win begins with the truth: he won the electoral college vote. Embellishment can be dismissed as gossip.1 Other lies are just blatantly false from the get-go.2 Like any other shithead salesman, everything is a negotiation. This negotiation just happens to take place over information, and what of it is accurate.
The press will cry about all of this for way too long, but I think the real story—and why Trump was untouchable by the media during the election—has been missed multiple times over. The cascading avalanche of lies is, at this point, better served as a distraction.3 What nobody seems to be talking about are the few times Donald Trump told the truth.
If you aren’t at least somewhat enjoying the White House cutting off certain press outlets from the daily briefings, then you’re just not having enough fun in show business. The journalism industry has spent decades marching itself into irrelevance, consumed by the revenue interests of corporate ownership.1 Now after months of doing the journalistic equivalent of kicking a bucket of shit repeatedly, they’re crying foul about a glorified meeting regarding memos.
Without trying to recap the aggregate of generally criminal—at least certainly inhuman—behaviors acted out by the current administration, it’s impossible to still not gawk at the brash arrogance of the hatred that is overflowing into the public discourse. The language alone that is being used sounds like these elected officials are pitching a script for 24.
I have been publishing content on this web site for 18 years now. A lot of things have changed since 1999. I had to build this thing with shoddy tables using Netscape Navigator the first time I coded it.1 What I have always wanted from it is to form some accurate digital reflection, a version of myself that would hopefully be easier to navigate and exclude a lot of the bullshit that comes with the real me.2
Over the past year or so, I’ve been struggling to build a coherent ‘umbrella’ structure that would be able to contain and organize my various ideas and endeavors. No content management system or application seemed to fit what I want to do with the internet. Until now.