The most powerful person in the world once again weighs in on a vital subject with nuance, perspective, and a formidable intellect: 1. LameStream is not a word, and certainly is not improved with dual capitalization as if it were a mattress brand. 2. "Media" requires no capitalization, particularly when impugning it for being ineffective. Further, the galling inanity of the phrase "lame stream media" can be emphasized by remembering that it entered the public consciousness via Sarah Palin. 3. There has not been a shred of evidence involving Adam Schiff in any sort of corruption, specified or otherwise. 4. Capitalizing "corruption" does not lend dimwitted accusations additional weight. 5. "Discribing" is actually spelled "Describing." 6. Unless, of course, you're referring to the famous Roman east coast/west coast beef of A.D. 336, when various stentors, friars, and scribes dissed each other over a series of increasingly insulting papyrus scrolls, resulting in The Bloodletting by The Rubicon as related in the seminal work of Gaius Seutonious, "I'm Gonna Cut Your Back With My Quill." 7. CNN did not remove your hyphen, mainly because you did not use a hyphen. 8. What you used is called an apostrophe. 9. Adding an apostrophe at the end of a misspelled word, even if intentional, does not magically render that word correctly spelled. 10. An apostrophe indicates the omission of a letter or letters at the end of a word. 11. So, it turns out you absolutely did spell "little" wrong. 12. You also capitalized and infantilized it. 13. What you really wanted were these nifty devices known as quotation marks. They go at the front and back of a given word. For instance, "imbecile". 14. CNN's ratings, wherever they fall on the spectrum of lazy punditry, are not caused by a disingenuous re-framing of punctuation. 15. Using exclamation points to complete otherwise lackluster sentences at the end of incoherent paragraphs is a well known sign of impotence!
Thanks to the ever intrepid Maria Behan for reminding me I haven't mentioned the shirts in a while. Once again, every penny made from the sale of the undeniably stylish IGNORANCE IS COLLABORATION design (notice oblivious Donald in one eye socket and devious Putin in the other) will be donated to the campaign of whoever ends up running against Trump in the general. Unless, of course, he's in jail by then, in which case I will deposit the entire amount in his prison canteen, with the caveat that he can only spend it on books. And further, only on historical non-fiction.
I rescued a box of stuff from my parent's attic a few years ago and shipped it out to Seattle. It was packed with artifacts from high school and college, mostly old journals and drawings and letters. The box has been on a shelf in my garage, unwanted and unloved, ever since. Over the past month I have taken on the project of ridding our house of everything extraneous, selling books, donating clothing, emptying drawers and closets. Yesterday I pulled down the box and started looking through it. Man. There is so much hilarious, ridiculous, and cringe-worthy stuff in there. It's like watching a documentary about someone else's life. This may become a series. Item #1: my first driver's license.
Yesterday I was just sitting in a cafe working, headphones on, listening to Kenny Dorham and lost in thought when there was an explosion. The entire building shook. The cafe is down the hill from a gas station and my first thought was that someone's propane tank blew up. The woman sitting closest to the wall jumped out of her seat and slid across the floor. Me and a couple other guys and the barista ran outside. There was a brand new tricked-out Dodge Challenger on the sidewalk. The owner had left it at a gas pump in neutral and gone in to buy something and it rolled backwards at high speed, probably forty yards, crossed the street between traffic, and slammed into the cafe. I didn't realize at first the car was empty because it was still moving, sort of rolling back and forth with the momentum and I thought someone truly hammered or having a stroke was trying to park. When we got closer it was clear it was moving on its own, so I jumped in (not easy, the owner was clearly very short and the seat was all the way up and also, it was moving) and waited until it rolled back to the curb and put it in gear. Worth mentioning (beyond my distinct "first man on the barricades" persona) that the reason I jumped in was because I was by far the oldest one there and the car was a standard and all the younger dudes were like "Does anyone know how to drive a stick?" I'm not kidding. Fodder for a different post entirely, this generational mystification with the clutch. In any case, a Mexican kid, maybe 20, came running down, totally distraught. He didn't speak much English, but between the "Que Pendejos!" (calling himself a fucking idiot) I gathered it was his brother's car and he didn't have insurance and basically his brother was going to murder him. He leaned against the hood and started sobbing. I tried, brokenly, to tell him it was just a mistake and we all do stupid shit and the damage to the building wasn't that bad (somewhat true) and same with the car (total lie). He drove off and after a while the cops came and everyone chatted giddily like they do when something unusual happens on an otherwise bagel-and-laptop afternoon. Here's the really weird thing, though: that whole side of the cafe has back-in parking, not parallel. There's probably a dozen spaces facing out. The Challenger somehow rolled all that distance backward and right into the only spot available. I realize that sounds absurd, but it's 100% true. It's why I thought someone was trying to park. The car had maybe ten inches of room on either side and still slid perfectly in between. It's a genuine miracle (I don't believe in miracles, so instead let's call it a refutation of mathematical probability verging on the preposterous) that the car didn't kill a pedestrian, get hit by another car while crossing the street, or crush a parked Tesla instead of just crumpling a few feet of wall. Afterward I sat there and tried to work for another hour, but couldn't stop looking out the window and marveling at the stupid, naked beauty of the world.
Oh, just that Halloween 8 years ago when we went as Hippie Bob De Niro and Cathy Moriarty from Raging Bull.
Gwen "hired a person book curator"......It is truly the end of empire...
Well, I had to do something besides sit at home in my underwear and type acerbic paragraphs for the mostly-converted, so Greg Olear (scourge of Individual-1's Twitter feed and author of "Dirty Rubles") and I decided to launch a fundraiser. We've designed this T-shirt, with the help of mighty pixel-jockey Mike Nesi, and it is now on officially on sale. Fully EVERY CENT raised will be donated to the campaign of whoever runs against Trump in 2020. There is no other story at this point, Not Trump the only rallying cry that matters. The election is closer than you think. Buy one now and be part of the solution. Please share! Makes a great Christmas present. Also, we chose the highest quality material. Who needs to man the barricades in an itchy, ill-fitting shirt? Ignorance is indeed collaboration.
Closer view of image below. Hint: gaze deeply into the skull's eyes.
Hey, this new contributor page in The Lescaux Review is pretty cool. I had a story in there a while back. It's definitely a journal worth checking out.
Oh, just that time I wore a dress to a book reading. Here I am, about to run around the corner to the podium and wow the capacity crowd.