Monthly Archives: February 2016

Me and the Youths

The younglings continue to break for Sanders, while the olds continue to hope that we can finally please oh please could we just please get a woman in the White House already what more does she need to prove to you people.

And since I’m apparently peeved about getting older, as well as increasingly anti-capitalist as those years insist on speeding past,  I keep wondering why I don’t side with the people who know how to use “fleek” on  electing someone unafraid to call out the Rockafellers for their depredations upon our society. (Is it a noun? An adjective? Verb? Dependent on context?)

Why am I unmoved by this apparently viable candidate whose platform consists of free college, universal health care, and prioritized mitigation of income inequality? Who’s Jewish? Why am I not only unmoved, but downright hostile to him?

Who am I?

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A Brief Philip K Dick Interlude

I recently binged both the TV and book versions of The Man in the High Castle. Thatsa lotta Nazis.

I started to blog about these particular alternative histories–both the Asian-centric original and the Nazi-centric contemporary. But then I picked up a minor Philip Dick work, published 2 years after TMitHC, The Simulacra, and it was like TMitHC took acid, watched a bunch of Marx Brothers films, and foresaw a future in which Nazi evil takes the form of corporate oligarchy subduing the masses with HGTV and an ornate, comprehensive bureaucracy of citizenship.

As can happen when you pick up a Dick novel.

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Reading Women’s Anger

Highlights from what I’ve been reading:

The Woman Upstairs, by Claire Messud

This novel launches auspiciously with a rant by a self-identified middle-aged angry woman, about the nature and depth of her anger. Methought “yes, please!” And I enjoyed it. Lovely sentences, interesting characters. But the symbolism was too on the nose. An unfulfilled, meticulous, self-contained woman artist making meticulous, self-contained dioramas of famously unfulfilled women artists. Her foil, a fulfilled, vaguely exploitative, worldly woman artist making room-sized joyful worlds out of “trash” and, it turns out, exploitation. Didn’t you hear? The Art Machine grinds people up! OTOH, Alice Munro said that all the women she knew upended their lives between 36 and 45. This is a decent story about that.

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Seriously, #TheGoodWife??!!

Magical black friend with no backstory hugs the white lady and suddenly Alicia’s all making out with Foxy Dude and getting job offers?! Personally transformed? An emotional trajectory from permanumb to all the feelz, catalyzed by a black lady’s offer of friendship?

the-good-wife-7-09-lucca-and-alicia

Magical black friend around whom inexplicable factoids collect, masking the absence of real human character?

Magical black friend is 30 with no friends but Alicia? And a bum brother?

Magical black friend likes to dance? And roll her eyes at nonsense?

Magical black friend likes dating artists but eventually gets bored?

TV, whatever points you scored by letting a middle-aged woman have sex on network TV, you’re gonna lose on Lucca.

Make Alicia do something for her. Testify on Lucca’s behalf. Bring Lucca chicken soup so we can see the inside of Lucca’s apartment. Shop for holiday gifts together and marvel at both the detritus of consumer culture and the frail family bonds that are supposed to be shored by it.

Make them real friends. The distance of differing race and class positions overcome by shared hotness, iciness, rejection of nonsense, and love/hate of The Law.

Two real women, friends on TV.

That would be revolutionary.

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