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Betrayed Promises

 

This is essentially a nothing, but I wish to apologize for a broken promise.  I suspect this will take about a minute to read, but oh well,  it’s the fucking holidays.  I have greedy teenage children looking for their post Santa Claus goldmines, an increasingly failing marriage I am hoping an expensive present might rejuvenate in the coming new year, and a whole series of anxieties related to the chaotic and sometimes psychopathic work I intend to finish for publication in the scary future of 2020.

 

Yes. This is a personal piece, a minor more diary entry speaking about end-of-the-year pressures, those unfulfilled goals that we all simmer over as time and spiked Champaign allow us the consider the future, than any slight ideology we have realized and/or accomplished.  As for me, work work work and work through the new year, perhaps my final efforts at becoming famous for pointing out the shattering of both American and otherwise world devolution.  I do not wish to instill hatred, only to point out the what-should-be-obvious corruption, any longer, in this broken and decidedly selfish social media age, and suggest that all of us could be better, could be human, once again.

I wish to dedicate this otherwise miserable statement to my on-line-friend, and a genius in her own right (and much, much funnier than me when I try to brutally mock reality), the great and wonderful, and who I have never come close to and whom I will likely never meet, Janel Comeau  of the far-more-entertaining-than-this allwitnobrevity.com.  She has, frankly, kept me on track with the idea of blogosphere, my own descending misery elevated when she publishes her delightful satire.  From a distance and without anything other than words, I love you Janel, and in the-non-creepy-way of a fan awaiting your next piece of brilliance.

 

I wish all of you a happy new year (we, my family, celebrate nothing other than a tragically cynical gift-giving day that my greedy children relish), and wish everyone the best (especially you, my otherwise anonymous online friend), the best in life, and I hope that, post-depression holidays, all of us shall see each other again.  After all, as I tried to promise last week, I’d love to discuss the remaining against-Trump presidential candidates, and see if anyone has an hope over the less-than-a-year barbarity we are about to experience in 2020.  Enjoy the hopeful silence before everyone grows enraged over the lies from every side, and the nonsense that will provoke the whole world’s future.  Happy New Year, seriously, before we all resume hating one another.  I wish you both the best and the worst because fuck you after all.  None of us know what we’re talking about.

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Impeachment Has Always Been a Partisan Affair

 

Let’s stop kidding ourselves, wrapped, as we are, within our own narrow visions of the world.  The impeachment of Donald Trump was clearly a partisan undertaking.  Same with Bill Clinton.  Andrew Johnson was so reviled by everyone that his own party kept their mouths shut while the opposition ranted, cheated and fabricated in order to push the terrible man out.  Richard Nixon, for his part, retired prior to his inevitable ousting, the only impeachment that would have actually been bipartisan.

 

But there is another thing to consider about our nation’s three standing impeachments.  Beyond party, there remains the question of character.  Yes, all three of these men did (and continue to do with the present leader) some terrible, terrible things, violating their oaths and seeming to not care about the laws as they are written and meant to be followed.  And it is character, above all else, that grinds into the fabric of such political action.

 

Let’s take a look: Andrew Johnson

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He was a miserable man, a political appointment by Lincoln on the lone merit of his Southern heritage.  He offered no positive slant, no worthwhile knowledge or ideas about the nation.  He was a barely literate asshole whom no one ever loved.  Although, of course, he had his partisans, those who declared Johnson was the only man who could lead the nation to reconciliation after the devastation of the Civil War.

 

Johnson had no real interest in the recently freed slaves.  In fact, in his mind, they were all still slaves.  And when Congress overstepped his sour ideology, imposing the then celebrated period of ‘Reconstruction,’ Johnson did everything he could to undermine it.  That handful of newly elected black congressmen were parodied and caricatured, leading to images such as this:

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Those promoted ideas were encapsulated in this widely circulated image by people who did not necessarily like President Johnson.  But they supported him to the ends of the earth.  Misguided as they were (and wrong, ultimately), they for some reason believed that Johnson had their best interests at heart.  And when Johnson was finally tricked by the imposition of new laws that suddenly made his previous actions a violation of the Constitution, the opposition had him exactly where they wanted, a contentious trial with an inevitable outcome.  And yet, of course, there were the narrow partisans who refused to accept the facts, denied a truth that was plain and hovering in the air before them.  They refused to accept the findings, or the reality, and closed their eyes to the rift that refused to heal after the war.  People were bloody and violent, and radical terrorist organizations such as the Ku Klux Klan were suddenly invoked and allowed to flourish.  Citizens began losing faith in one another–certainly in the government, and all because Johnson was an unlovable creep that no one, really, wanted as their president.

 

Bill Clinton is a different sort of character:

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A profoundly charming man (probably his greatest talent), people who loathed him then met him face to face often went away still hating his politics, but with a slightly better opinion of him.  He could make them smile.

 

But Bill Clinton was also a sleazebag–let’s admit this, pro-Clinton partisans.  He was an oily, predatory creature–all his life, apparently–and he used his power both to seduce people, or threaten them if they didn’t toe the line.  And while his presidency, ultimately, remains in historical consideration a pretty successful one, let us not forget the numerous incidents of hideous domestic violence that the actions his administration inspired:

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There are plenty more too.  And while we cannot blame Bill Clinton himself for these irrational and radical attacks, the polarization of partisan hatred, sometimes consciously inflamed by the otherwise moderate president, continued to create an increasingly divisive society.  And when the nation, after the first few events, decided to elect a counter to Clinton’s perceived moral lapses, the hard right wing began getting a voice in American government again.  And this voice was vile and filled with unconscionable hatred for vague ideas and misunderstood perceptions that were easily filled in and narrowed by secret-meeting-talking-points and insincere religious fundamentalism.  The new Republican house majority set about trying to find a way to get a man they considered a false President out of office until finally, after exhaustive research into the numerous questionable transactions anyone successful enough to rise to the highest office in the land is unquestionably guilty of, they latched onto something petty and went ahead desperately trying to fume over transgressions about half of the majority were also guilty of, and they tried to shame the President.  Of course Clinton knew how to work his crowd and even convinced many abused women to support him in favor of the grim, creaky old misogynists on the other side of the aisle.  It became a purely partisan formality, the on display flaws of character in the President eventually leading the way to impeachment.

 

Donald Trump, while every bit as much under a partisan attack, still creates a different picture in a world that is somehow even more partisan than the sorrow of the Clinton years, the shock of the Bush, Jr. years, and the desperate, racist loathing of the Obama years.  No, Donald Trump, a shallow, empty showman only interested in money, is terrific at exploiting the disappointment and rage that people of every generation always feel and frequently have hotly buried inside.  Trump encourages them to unburden their rage:

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This is the divide in America under the presidency of Donald Trump.  Is it his fault?  Partially.  Here are a few quotes from the man:

  • “You’re saying it’s a falsehood, and they’re giving — our press secretary . . . gave alternative facts to that.”
  • “We condemn in the strongest possible terms this egregious display of hatred, bigotry and violence on many sides. On many sides.”
  • “Wouldn’t you love to see one of these NFL owners, when somebody disrespects our flag, to say, ‘Get that son of a bitch off the field right now. Out! He’s fired. He’s fired!’”
  • “North Korean Leader Kim Jong Un just stated that the “Nuclear Button is on his desk at all times.” Will someone from his depleted and food starved regime please inform him that I too have a Nuclear Button, but it is a much bigger & more powerful one than his, and my Button works!”
  • “In the second grade I actually gave a teacher a black eye — I punched my music teacher because I didn’t think he knew anything about music. . . .”
  • “If you see somebody getting ready to throw a tomato, knock the crap out of them, would you? Seriously, OK? Just knock the hell … I promise you I will pay for the legal fees. I promise, I promise.”
  • To the police: “When you guys put somebody in the car and you’re protecting their head you know, the way you put their hand over [their head] . . . Like, ‘Don’t hit their head and they’ve just killed somebody, don’t hit their head.’ I said, ‘You can take the hand away, OK?'”

This is a very slight sample of President Trump’s smug, inspiring statements that tell his followers that it is okay to invent your own truth(s), it is okay to hate–and even attack–people you do not agree with.  He glories in threats, usually empty because deep down the man is a coward, masking himself behind bluster, arrogance and a mercilessly thin skin that causes him to be offended by even the slightest criticism in his handling of anything.  One can imagine how terrible it must be to work for him, going all the way back to his numerous rises and falls in business.  Who was blamed for his own mistakes?  Who gets told they are stupid when all the stupidity in question is committed by him?  And of course this isn’t all the time.  Donald Trump has been very successful in life–he must know something!

 

But his impeachment is frankly a terrifying thing to behold.  Not since before the Civil War has the nation been so divided along partisan lines.  Back then the righteous anti-slavery congressman Charles Sumner was hit in the head on the house floor by the outraged pro-slavery advocate Preston Brooks:

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Notice all the people smiling and laughing, or simply ignoring the gruesome event in this image.  And considering how angry both sides seem to be over this situation that keeps being called ‘unprecedented’ (clearly it is not)–look at Doug Collins seething with rage whenever the President’s actual crimes are brought up (and quit saying he didn’t commit any–of course he did and you know it!  Partisanship is your only line of defense, which, any longer, is based exclusively in the realm of hating a different opinion from your own)–considering how angry everybody is what sort of face might our nation’s collapse take this time, when regional considerations no longer exist?

 

Impeachment is always about character, about the personality of whomever is in office, and the distaste people feel when considering the fact that this person was somehow elected leader of their nation.  But when someone tries the argument that “this is all about hating the man,” or “You’re trying to undermine the will of the people just because you don’t like how the election turned out,” this is hardly the first time such statements have been made, directed at either side.  And so the righteous hypocrisy on every side is what is really to blame, the cruel partisanship that consumes Democratic politics.  To repeat, and from a very different perspective than someone in the house trying to defend the president said, George Washington said it best:

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This quote (or at least a few cherry picked lines) was used by a Republican to condemn the Democrats (with some justification) for their attempts to impeach Donald Trump.  But another reading of this quote can easily revert towards the man this Congressman wishes to save, a thoroughly corrupt man who himself can only crow about economic prosperity under his reign.  And while this is a good thing, there is nothing else he can brag about.  He has done nothing other than divide the nation even more with his ‘character.’  And the boasting about money also betrays his only interests, the only thing he truly cares about.  He does not care about people.  He doesn’t care about you, those who support him.  You are like a tissue he can use to blow his nose on, needing you for a moment before throwing you away, never to be thought about again.  Donald Trump does not care about anything.  He believes in nothing.  And this, like all those before, is really why he has been impeached.  Partisanship, a loathsome character.  Perhaps we as citizens should really think about who a person is before we rally around a slogan and elect them to lead us.

 

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No One Believes In Donald Trump

 

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Let’s be honest: Nobody believes in Donald Trump.  I don’t care what political side you are on, deep down we all know this is true.  Of course this does not mean that plenty of people do not support him, people willing to excuse his clear and obvious self-serving corruption.  After all, it is easy to condemn his opposition too, their mincing desperation transparently clear. Their grit-toothed mantra is some sort of fuck you to those legitimate assholes who voted for Trump.

 

Wait–wait wait wait.  I know how such a statement will be taken by the handful of you (and I know you exist, our back and forth outside telling me respectfully what you believe) who like to pretend that Trump is working for you.  Deep down you know that he isn’t, that he does not care about you, or about America, nor about anything at all other than some vague and often flawed idea about how to make money.  You folks know this.  You know it.  You know inside of yourselves that the man doesn’t so much hate you or hate these United States as much as he does not care at all.  No, what you vote for is cynicism, an attack on the urgent self-satisfaction of the opposition that you enjoy telling to fuck itself by voting for an asshole who will treat them like shit.  This is the foundation of Donald Trump’s base, not a positive vision of a greater future for the nation, but cruel laughter over confused perceptions on how other people might take it.

 

No one really believes in Donald Trump as a savior, nor as even a patriotic citizen.  The man has no interest in America.  I challenge you to make an argument that if ISIS compiled enough money Trump wouldn’t sell them nuclear weapons and then boast about how he made the greatest and largest sale in civilized history.  Put simply, the man only cares about money.  He cares only about the vague idea of boastful personal profit (and we already knew this going back to the earliest days of his career.)

 

I want to offer you a few quotes from the man from his tome The Art of the Deal (which was written by somebody else based upon the rambling statements Donald Trump made between yelling at people and smearing them after they left the room).  Just give me a moment, and I hope you see my point:

 

  • “I never get too attached to one deal or one approach. For starters, I keep a lot of balls in the air, because most deals fall out, no matter how promising they seem at first.”
  • “One thing I’ve learned about the press is that they’re always hungry for a good story, and the more sensational the better. It’s in the nature of the job, and I understand that. The point is that if you are a little different, or a little outrageous, or if you do things that are bold or controversial, the press is going to write about you.
  • “[F]rom a pure business point of view, the benefits of being written about have far outweighed the drawbacks. It’s really quite simple … The funny thing is that even a critical story, which may be hurtful personally, can be very valuable to your business.”
  •  “The final key to the way I promote is bravado. I play to people’s fantasies. People may not always think big themselves, but they can still get very excited by those who do. That’s why a little hyperbole never hurts. People want to believe that something is the biggest and the greatest and the most spectacular. I call it truthful hyperbole. It’s an innocent form of exaggeration, and a very effective form of promotion.”
  • “[W]hen people treat me badly or unfairly or try to take advantage of me, my general attitude, all my life, has been to fight back very hard. The risk is you’ll make a bad situation worse, and I certainly don’t recommend this approach to everyone. But my experience is that if you’re fighting for something you believe in — even if it means alienating some people along the way — things usually work out for the best in the end.”
  • “You can’t con people, at least not for long. You can create excitement, you can do wonderful promotion and get all kinds of press, and you can throw in a little hyperbole. But if you don’t deliver the goods, people will eventually catch on.”

 

These are all from a book that was published in 1987.  Consider this brutal cynicism, this approach to business, and then compare it to the fate of the actual world today.  Sure, some lying liberals have attempted to claim that Trump repeated a quote that actually belonged to Joseph Goebbels, “You tell people a lie three times, they will believe anything. You tell people what they want to hear, play to their fantasies, and then you close the deal.”  But what he really said is far more American, based in self-serving greed and not so much in the destruction of others.  Business–and I personally know this from my father, a successful and self-made executive, founder of his own company and smugly self-satisfied because he learned how to take advantage of other people’s weakness–business is a soulless enterprise, one exclusively trapped in the transactional world of give me this for that (defined as ‘quid pro quo,’ in actual translated definition), or maybe “you can have this if you give me that.”  This is standard business practice.  And while it might fly in the cutthroat world of indifferently making as much money as you can, it does not translate into the cold and hard society that all of us live within.

 

For those of you who believe that Trump is somehow “making America great again,” I hope, at least for a moment, you can back off from you cynical smiles or outraged hatred and take a look at something more down to civilized earth.  People in America and people all over the world are at each other’s throats.  They hate one another perhaps harder than they ever have before.  The divide between belief has created something that Kellyanne Conway, several years ago, called “alternative truth,” perhaps the most cynical and damaging idea that has come out of this collapsing age.  What that means is that people believe different things are real–and do not take me for some sodden leftist, worrying about how those on the right are wrong about everything.  Of course they are, refusing to consider the numerous facts spreading out that our current President is in fact a criminal, but those on the left are vaguely desperate to force their opinion on us all without bothering to make a case.  And they are most likely correct, at least in philosophical inquiry.  Most of us ultimately have no doubt that Donald Trump is even guilty of treason.  But the partisan divide, that petty shouting match that causes people to refuse to even listen to whatever might condemn their beliefs, this is what the final legacy of the Trump years will provide, whether he wins re-election or not.  For this is a man that refuses to care anything about you; a man who never expected (nor even wanted) to win his office, but who has now reclined into a place of absolute destruction and chaos because that is the only thing that can keep him busy in a job he does not care for and in a place he absolutely despises.  Donald Trump hates you, he hates all of us, and the fact that people support him only because he condemns those whom they hate is the final word on the man, the final say on this present collapse of a nation that I–and probably most of you–love far more than the crooked President.  I do not claim that anyone running against him is superior (although, on a personal level, based upon my own biased views, I cannot imagine anyone being worse for the health of our nation).  No, we are in a terrible place.  But it is important to consider, I believe, that a vote against something is not a vote for anything.  If all we want to do is laugh at people different from us then humanity is doomed.  We are doomed.  I hope that we are not doomed any longer.

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After a Delay, Happy Tomorrow

 

This will be a slight personal comment, trapped within a larger explosion of my world.  I get that hardly any of my readers (if any at all) frankly give a fuck about me, my being some amorphous critic of everyone and everything, a negative spark that tends to make people feel worse instead of better, who tries his damnedest to expose any random reader to my bleak vision of the world.

 

Anyway, on a much lighter and far more optimistic note, my recent absence has to do with professional responsibilities, inevitably the interference with all of our lives outside of the freedom to say whatever we want.  I am writing three books simultaneously, editing three more (two of them not my own), and have been busy with phone calls and notebook scribbles over the endless interviews I have undertaken for one of the (if not my primary) works, a dense biography about both perspectives and actual reality (an increasingly questionable thing the deeper and deeper I probe).  For any of you, living a life within various professions, business and law and education, blue collar or simply a student dreaming of their whatever future, let me tell you that writing as a career is not as easy as the freedom to set your own hours might seem.  It is dense and mentally exhausting and sometimes you find yourself working for 40 straight hours before the blur of consciousness makes whatever ideas you have discovered into a mush of broken thoughts, the end of reality and the blathering nonsense so many self-important and self-righteous writers spurt out in confused moments they declare genius.  And for those of you, wrapped up with whatever genuine responsibilities your life imposes upon you, looking to the wannabe artist with condescending and head-shaking contempt, it remains important to declare just how hard this job can sometimes be.  Sure, yes, plenty of us are living our childhood dreams, those arrogant fantasies we had when we were young and imagining ourselves so much superior to all others because we focused on imagination.  But this does not cause the reality of such undertakings to be ephemeral masturbation, the smug laziness of someone trying to avoid responsibility.

 

I am married, have a family with two children, a dog and a cat that I need to do my best to care for.  And so I work very hard, never really stopping, never giving up no matter how overwhelmed and shattered the concepts ultimately become.  Because this is what life is about, regardless of how hard or not you work at whichever goal, ambition and necessity you enclose about yourselves.  It is about effort, about refusing to give up, about working through the problems and finding a reason to continue struggling and suffering for an end goal.  This is the essence of my career.  And yes, I want to talk and rant and laugh at Donald Trump’s impeachment; I would love to comment on the curious dominating victory of Boris Johnson in the shattered climate of Great Britain (or is it merely England now?)  It is truly in my heart of denounce the Democrats petty attempts and the Republicans clearly ignoring both the law and the facts in order to push their partisan agendas.  It is clear that the disgusting party line votes in the house and eventually in the Senate finally undermine the rationality of a political system that was once both the envy and inspiration for the entire wannabe free world.  And yet we all seem to turn away from this, either cracked with the varying biases of news coverage or simply no longer caring about anything at all (and thus, deep down, a traitor to the ideology we pretend we believe in).  And what we discover is a broken world swaddled in incipient anger and irrational rage where civil war is not even an option.  It becomes an every-man-for-themself chaos that will break society and seek, desperately, after the destruction of the social world, some sort of strongman to restore confidence and ultimately tell us what to think and what to do.  This is not, by the way, the role of a Donald Trump or even a Vladimir Putin.  No, this is the guise of a terrifying future, literally out of George Orwell, that will no doubt descend should we continue along this warlike path of not actual arms and battle, but over thinking everyone and everything outside of out narrow purview is not only stupid, but is the enemy.

 

I did not plan on making that sort of moral argument, but simply wanted to state that I still have ideas I wish to foist upon you.  Shortly I will resume some dense historical narratives (an aside to my Elsewhere series, more about the United States, outside of my own small place within this giant nation).  And yet such fragmented political considerations cannot help but infuse such a narrative.  And so I want to wish all of you Happy Holidays (be it Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa, or any other seasonal celebration people decide to endure on these brief days off from the struggle of our lives resumes), and a Happy New Year.  I am not so hopeful of the last one, and yet wish my pessimistic outlook could be wrong this one time, making me believe myself less of a prophet than my musings have terrifyingly proven me to be.  All I know is that I will hold close and quiet with my family until the dawn of 2020, leaving all of you alone, hoping that everything is fun and sweet and wonderful.  I will avoid any more tragedy (at least in the public status of 2019, as I work on my miserable books you should read come 2020 and beyond–don’t worry; this site, if nothing else, is really just a promotional vehicle for my professional work.  I will send you links.  I will demand that you read my wares) for now, wistfully smiling at pictures of dogs and cats in Christmas gear

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and the hilarity of those dark, creepy Santa Claus images from the past

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(there are thousands more.  Check out this horror: https://sketchysantas.tumblr.com/).  And so I leave you for this year, frustrated, smugly smiling and hoping beyond hope that next year won’t be quite as awful as this one.  I wish you well, I wish you well, and, no doubt, I will see plenty of you in the hell of our own making.

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A Brief Little Something For Thanksgiving

 

I have been away from these commentaries for some time now, a sad evolution of my life considering that I used to write something, often believed to be important, every single day.  Now don’t get me wrong; I am not trying to be arrogant nor pat myself on the back.  I do not wish to come across as the sort of asshole who cannot understand why people don’t think me brilliant.  What I mean by such a pompous statement is that the issues and ideas I have attempted to take on are quite serious.  It has as much to do with my own quest for understanding this chaotic world as it does with my obnoxious need to let you know how I think the world works.  But all of this is post-essay reflection and has nothing to do with the bulk of my words.

 

Recently a single piece of mine has gone ‘viral,’ whatever that means.  I wrote it back in August, 2019, and it’s title is “The Feminization of Masculinity.”  From the start I had some angry responses.

 

That piece was more about changes within our culture and not just gender issues and the wholesale slaughter of who we believe ourselves to be.  It was not meant to be a condemnation of anyone or anything individually, the story acknowledging that people make their own ways through the world and should not be judged for their preferences, decisions, nor even their confusion over identity.  It was not an attack of prejudice.  And yet the hypersensitive world, this ghoulish time we live in where people actually want to be offended, almost a sexual need to raise themselves into a combative state to prove to someone, anyone (most likely themselves) that they are more moral than another.  I have never wished to proclaim such a hollow goal, accepting the fact that plenty of people will think I am wrong and some might even hate me through their skimmed misunderstanding of the larger question I tried to ask.

 

But all of this is meaningless, finally, the cool cash I have made because a bunch of people both approve or hate something I have said giving me a superficial insight that if I piss enough people off (whether intentionally or not), this is what people want, what they will listen to, and the ideas they choose sides on, hoping that their responses overwhelm both the pro and con ideologies, as well as the thing (in this case a possession of my own) that has set them off into a ‘whisper-down-the-lane,’ their own ideas consuming the original point and changing the discussion into something never mentioned.

 

This is both the dream and the curiosity of a writer, such misunderstanding somehow providing your success, giving your ideas a confused aftermath, an almost laughable wonder over how some person could have thought that whatever you were saying means whatever they want it to.  But this is what writers endure constantly, the critical response that might have little or nothing to do with the intention.  This is what gives us our lifeblood–our careers–and we cannot truly resent the confused rage of someone inexplicably offended.

 

What I really wanted to say, this early morning on Thanksgiving, here in the United States (and I am the cook, it presently after 2AM, food currently in the oven and a whole shitload more waiting to be prepared and consumed), is that I am thankful, as well as appalled by the insistence of people that their ideas on the nature of the world are the only thoughts worth realizing, and that if you cannot abide such arrogance, then somehow you are either the enemy or simply ignorant.  This is not a partisan phenomenon, but a duel-sided violence–the two sides of a scratched up, double-headed coin, viciously trying to outdo one another because all views are now singular and there isn’t really anything worth listening to anymore.  I mean, Thanksgiving, this is the time when some asshole relative you have never liked rants on and on after a few drinks about the absolute morality they wish to impose upon their family.  And most of us simply roll our eyes and refuse to engage, drinking ourselves into a stupor even prior to the moment when the turkey finally takes us out.  And yet there are always those others, equally unlovable and constantly forcing the gritting of our teeth, who for one reason or another fight back and try to prove one idiot wrong with their own parallel version of idiocy.

 

I have been this sort of fucker in the past, one of those blowhards pretending to be a ‘counter-puncher,’ merely responding to whatever stupidity (in my opinion) somebody else was saying, and yet my entire goal had been to do just that.  I had been waiting to prove not just that such-and-such was wrong, but that the person under consideration was stupid for even saying whatever it was they were saying.  Of course those words came out in my younger years, my challenge of whichever long-since-dead relative whom I only ever saw on Thanksgiving, and whom I never bothered sending (and never received) a birthday or Christmas card from.  Today, now, I simply don’t care enough.  I am interested and yet uninterested in challenging another person’s beliefs.  Sure, I might think they are wrong.  I might even tell them, mock them.  But I try to be good-natured about it, pretending that all of us are morons no matter how sincere we are in whatever it is we believe.  Somehow this denunciation of humanity gives us a level peace, a mutual agreement on just how foolish all of us are.

 

I have been extremely busy of late, the cause of my withdrawal from Recording Editorial History.  I am working on three books presently, one in its late stages, editing and the occasional rewrites, a project that has taken me many years and which should be entirely finished in 2020.  And then there is the major work (or at least the one that should sell the best and make me the most profit), an intense biography that has been a constant for more than a year now.  It is an endless cycle of interviews and trips around the country and the occasional desperate attempts to get in touch with individuals from the subject’s past, some of them since phenomenally successful, even very well known and obviously nervous about putting their name on anything not directly promoting their career.

 

And finally there is a history book, something I have an increased interest with every single day, the bulk of my personal reading dense research into the phenomenon of the subject.  Broadly it is a history of my home, of my nation, of our shifting politics and our battle over opposing viewpoints.  It is called, after all, Recording Editorial History (with a subtitle I am not yet willing to announce).  All three of these projects are, at least in the present tense, my life’s work.  And I will continue working and working and working and working, and I suppose that sometimes I will return here to you and give you an idea that may or may not piss you off.  I love this website, these more than 3,000 pages I have offered to an extremely limited segment of the world.  And there is nothing I want more than to hear your voices, to listen to opposition (or of course praise; I am a lonely, nervous writer, someone who wants to consider themselves an ‘artist,’ and anyone saying something nice can even go so far as to make me cum hands free . . . wait, perhaps that is going too far . . .)

 

And so I wish you happy holidays.  I will no doubt return with another zombie parallel on Christmas (I have a tradition of watching numerous zombie films on Christmas day and my son is finally old enough to join me in the joy of the splatter).  I will try to offer something more, something political or historical or on that old safe place of sociology.  And I thank you, I am thankful for you.  To quote Joseph Conrad, “One lives too long.  Happy X-mas.”  Happy holidays or whatever PC term applies to our season.  Or don’t be happy.  Most of us really aren’t at holiday time.  Enjoy your hopeful feast that will probably wind up making you sick, or at least cause you to hate yourself because you were trying to diet and then you ate all that savory, greasy crap.

 

Have a happy morning . . .