My "Shape of Water" post, 12/30/17

 "The Shape of Water" just won "Best Picture." Below is my review, re why it shouldn't have won.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

The Shape of Water

My adventure for this Friday was taking the bus to downtown Austin to see "The Shape of Water" at Violet Crown on 2nd St.

I arrived early and was walking around with time to kill when a young man approached me at an intersection: "Sorry to bother you, but do you know where the new library is?"

While wandering around aimlessly, I had been wondering the same thing: The newly opened big-deal-of-a-library was somewhere in the area, but I hadn't seen it. I apologized for not knowing, explaining that I was just killing time before a movie. What movie? I told him. His girlfriend had just "made him" see "The Shape of Water," but he didn't like it. Why not? He didn't know --- just wasn't his thing. What about (my second and third choices for holiday films) the Churchill movie and "Three Billboards"? He liked Churchill... I wished him luck as we crossed separate streets.

After briefly contemplating changing my movie plans after talking to a complete stranger (!), I went on see "The Shape of Water."

It was, in many ways, an intensely beautiful movie. It was shot beautifully. And I am so utterly alone that I, of course, related completely to the mute main character, to her ageing gay neighbor, to the "monster." To the sympatico, delicate connections. THAT was the beautiful part of the movie: "We are not alone."

Plot-wise, the film was also intense: The Evil Villain versus the Good Guys. I cringed and got angry where appropriate; I cried.

The acting was great: Michael Shannon as the Bad Guy (whom I'd just recently seen in a funnily evil bit on the Amy Sedaris show) was the best; Sally Hawkins as the The Mute was very good (especially her "FUCK YOU" signing scene).

The film was based on "The Creature of the Black Lagoon" --- director Guillermo del Toro has said in interviews that he had a fantasy about the Gill-man ending up with the Girl. That's a thing unto itself. (I had my own fantasy about "Sunset Boulevard.) And that fantasy of "the Beast" winding up with its object of desire is a long-standing thing (realized here). As is the non-sexual fantasy of "the Beast" potentially being rescued: Frankenstein, King Kong, ET, Trog...

My problem with this movie, though, was that the "other" wasn't explored very intelligently or subtly. There was a lot of heavy-handed social critiquing going on. For instance, the main character and her gay neighbor like to go to a "Southern" diner where the studly young counter-man calls out to customers "Y'all come back now, y'hear!" The gay neighbor  has a crush on the young man. At one point, the two start to have a personal conversation about being alone in the city; as soon as the older gay man takes the young man's hand, the latter pulls back ---- then a black couple comes into the diner and the young man tells them to get out... Point taken: "Southern" and "white" is "Evil."

Same goes for the main "Bad Guy": He's a Fed; he reads "The Power of Positive Thinking" in his spare time; he fucks his wife with his shirt on; he crudely comes on to the saintly Eliza; he mocks black people; he sucks up to a general; he adheres to protocol. In an A-movie, I've never seen such a blatantly negative portrayal. Shannon was riveting in the role, but his role was cartoonishly one-sided.

(In other blatant ridiculousness from the director: "Movie-watching = Good; TV-watching = Bad.)

In other, more intelligently done, movies where an "alien" was involved, directors were more subtle. Think of "ET." Often, there's a scientific argument about what is to be done with the alien creature... This movie, though, takes a completely simplistic ham-handed approach. I got over that to enjoy the ride, but I was still obviously aware of the ham-handedness.

"The Shape of Water" was a very good, simplistic B-movie. In the "olden days," not Oscar-worthy (but just watch --- it'll get a bunch this year.)

Posted by Beth Austin at 12:25 AM

Trying to turn an apartment into a home

I moved in to my apartment in April 2017, nearly a year ago. The room pictured below was always "the spare room." Books and bookshelves. But I never felt like going in there and reading after dark because the big window was right off a sidewalk and the blinds had numerous gaps where people walking by could definitely see through. I finally figured out that you could order "wall hangings"/"tapestries" from Amazon... My goal was to block people from seeing in, plus leave some space below where I could still open the window and get some air in... (As for: "How will you see out?" The window just looks out onto a row of apartments and air-conditioners; nothing to see. Had I a room with a view, I would never block it!) I love the Ancient World tapestry that I found.

The last photo is of my "Thought Fox" (Ted Hughes) and "Scream" (Munch) pillows in the same room.

Lincoln vs. Capote

 

Two books... Which to read first? I've been working on the Lincoln (maybe 10 pages every couple of nights) for the past month. It's actually well-written, and I'm learning something about Lincoln's thought processes during the war, but... The Capote bio arrived Friday, and I read all 469 pages by 6am Sunday morning.

Desiderata by Max Ehrmann (1927)

Plath's mother counseled her in a letter to follow these precepts ("You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and stars; you have a right to be here.") And the guidance was so important to Joan Crawford that it was read at her 1977 memorial service. So maybe I should pay attention.

...With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Desiderata

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Max_Ehrmann

Bravo, Caterina (1957)

Caterina Valente and Silvio Francesco

What you "identify as"

It's all over the Internet that kids should "identify as" gay or trans, even if they're not exactly that. Me, I came out as "gay" at 23 in 1988 to my mother, specifically because I was in love with a woman at that time, and my mother called me at the very moment I was hoping the elusive lover would be calling me.

That woman didn't want me, and I went on to come out in public at a Gay March in Austin in April 1989. It was exciting to meet my first lover at that march. Except that she turned out to be an ex-con with a fetish for teenagers, and a self-styled dominatrix besides. And she immediately gave me a sexually transmitted disease.

I remain sad that I couldn't have simply had innocent teenage relations in high school, as other kids did. Instead of being able to go to the prom with someone I liked, my own first lover, years later, was a creepy ex-con, drug-doing dominatrix who gave me herpes. No kid deserves that as a first sexual memory.

Oh, about what one "identifies as": I'm bi. I've had sex with 5 people --- 1 man and 4 women. The one man was the best, most affectionate. I'm more attracted to women, but the one man was the best lover.

Despite my lesbian inclinations, I now completely "identify as" straight. Why? Because my experiences among gay people, both intimately and at gay clubs, have been shallow and unpleasant: Dominatrix first lover, drug-addled people at the clubs. I didn't "come out" into anything positive, although I did get to have sex for the first time.

At 52, I'm still attracted to women, but I "identify as" straight. I want to be with a woman, but I don't want anything to do with the skanky gay subculture.

"Nothing good ever happens after midnight."

This is probably true.

However, it does feel good to leave the house near midnight. Me, I've had many years now of coming home after work and just staying in... A couple of days ago, I went on a beer run at 10pm or so... It felt GOOD to be out! The air smelled fresh and good. People were wandering around. Reminded me of 20 years ago, when I was constantly primed to go out only after 11pm... I don't miss that lifestyle, but I do miss smelling the night air and smelling the possibilities. The night was bad for me, but I miss the night.

Timeline

Early Spring 1983: Ginny is a new student at Azle High School. I meet her in our school newspaper class, where I'm editor.

February through May 1983:

Mall: Ginny and I do punkish stuff at the closest mall in Fort Worth (Ridgmar Mall) --- getting matching "Frances Lives" T-shirts; getting matching "Japanese print" sweatshirts; turning a fountain out onto the sidewalk; glaring at my old best friend who's now working at a mall clothing store; as a birthday gift, she pays for my first ear piercing at a mall pagoda.

School: She and I torment our newspaper instructor, who's very awkward and also makes weird sexual comments to girls on the staff. Our "torment" basically consists of our locking him out of the newsroom one time. I also try to sneak Ginny on the bus going to Austin for UIL newspaper competitions; I'm actually competing in Editorial and Headlines, she's not. We wear matching mismatched socks for the occasion; she makes it onto the bus, but is discovered and kicked off! My graduation in May: I borrow Ginny's white heels (since I have none); she's playing in the band, I flash my leg to show off the shoes as I pass her...

Weird stuff: Ginny invites me to go to Georgia with her...and says not to mention this to Laura, another friend of hers that spring... Because of Laura, Ginny and I haven't spoken for a few weeks... I suspect that she asked Laura to go with her first!

Summer 1983:
I make the road trip to Georgia with Ginny and her mom and dad. On the way there, we four stay in a single hotel room. Ginny and I watch "Blue Lagoon" with the sound turned all the way down and giggle amongst ourselves. We also stop at a side-of-the-road flea market and Ginny buys me a jean jacket for $4. ($4 later turns up in an inside pocket of the jacket.) Ginny's mother and I see the Guggenheim bible; Ginny and her dad are not interested. At Ginny's grandma's house, I act silly, preventing intimacy... We end up leaving Georgia early. Ginny asks me not to tell my mom we're home yet; I can't lie.

Fall 1983:
I leave for college in Austin, late August. My mom drives, won't let me make a last-minute stop as we pass Ginny's house. Ginny and I exchange weekly letters. At one point, she tells me a German exchange student is living with her and her family. I'm extremely jealous. She then writes that she's having a great time in tennis class with "Cindy." I'm extremely jealous.

October 1983:
Ginny runs away from home to Austin. I'm in a dorm room that I share with someone else (who happens to be away for the weekend). Ginny stays with me for the weekend, but I can't offer her any permanent place to stay. After the weekend with me, she calls her father to come pick her up and returns to Azle.

December 1983:
I go home from UT Austin to Azle for Christmas. I go over to Ginny's house for a gift exchange. (I don't remember what I gave her; she gave me a woodcut of a unicorn in a wood frame.) Cindy is there. Ginny and Cindy are all over each other, and I'm clearly a non-entity.

May and Summer 1984:
My mother has driven me home from Austin. As we're in Azle, Ginny (with Cindy riding shotgun) happens to pull up to the left of us. Ginny and I wave madly, grinningly at each other. That summer, I try to re-connect with Ginny, but we can't. I ask her to see "The Wall" with me, but she brings Cindy along. (Ginny feels ill near the end because of the intensity of the picture--which I'd found so exhilarating--and leaves the theater; I'm irritated and stay put --- Cindy follows her out.)

Fall 1985:
Ginny comes to Austin, Cindy with her, to sell some music tapes that she's stolen from the Fort Worth record store she's been working at. (Huh?!) I tell her about a used record store where she might sell the tapes... She goes there, and... gets busted. The store reports her back to the Fort Worth store. She gets in trouble with the law. Blames me to her parents. (Exact shades of her parents finding cigarettes back in the spring of 1983 --- they weren't mine, but Ginny told them that they were mine. As she said at the time, they couldn't be hers, and they couldn't be Laura's because her parents liked Laura...)

Spring 1986:
I get a brief phone-call from Ginny, who'd moved back to Georgia with her parents; no real connection.

Spring 1987:
I get a brief phone-call from Ginny, asking if I were about to graduate. (I'd entered UT Austin in 1983; many would graduate in 4 years --- I was not about to.) She was in Georgia, sick and alone (cardio-pulmonary disease). Long-time companion Cindy was still in Azle attending to her mother, who was dying from cancer.

That was the last time I heard from her.

In November 1988, horribly depressed after having moved from Austin to be with some (now) random people in Fort Worth, I called Ginny's number. Her father answered and told me that she'd died in March and he thought he'd told all of the "Azle people." She died March 27, 1988, at age 21.

Modern English - I Melt With You (1982) (BOB-FM Austin, driving home today)

Made me remember how great it felt to be alive and possibly gay in '82. Cranked it up all the way home.

Nazareth Love Hurts (1976) (BOB-FM in Austin, driving home today)

Last gasp of sincerity from the '70s. I cranked this up and (partially) rolled down my windows.

Hekate, part 2

Crossroads and Hekate

Guns and Dads

The current Florida school shooting has led some conservative commentators (specifically Tucker Carlson on Fox) to promote "fathers leaving the family" as a reason for societal gun violence.

That type of ignorance is what made me, a current Trump supporter, a Democrat to begin with.

I grew up with a father who was violent, both emotionally and physically. And he had a gun. Said gun was usually used to shoot frogs out by our pond. But on one night in 1977, he used it to shoot at my mother, who had to flee the house for her life.

Were me and my brother safe? At the time of the gun incident, my 6-year-old brother had been in bed for a couple of hours. I (age 12), on the other hand, witnessed the beginning of the argument between my parents. My mother sent me to my room. Minutes later, I peered out, saw my mother fall to the carpet, simultaneously ripping my father's gold chain from his neck. That's when he went for the gun kept at the top of our hall closet. I quietly retreated back into my room, my ear pressed to the door.

I dunno how long it was later. At least an hour. Finally, I felt brave enough to emerge, to a deadly quiet house.

My drunk father was passed out, snoring, in the bedroom. I went to look for my mother. I opened the back door. No. I opened the door to the garage. There she was, gesturing to me to be quiet. I nodded and went back to my room.

Thankfully, that night was the final factor in her decision to divorce him after 15 years of marriage. A long time coming. I remember being scared of him since I was 5 years old.

The day my mother told me she was divorcing my father was a GREAT day in my life. So when I hear clueless, soft, privileged people like Tucker Carlson promoting the false idea that "having a father in the house" is the key to avoiding societal breakdown, I cringe, laugh...and revolt. For the 12 years that I lived with him, my father was the most frightening thing that ever happened to me.

Junky

My apartment is junky because of me. I've lived here 10 months now, never felt quite comfortable, constantly planned on moving once the lease was up... and so have left a lot of junk lying around and never properly decorated.

Today was my deadline for either giving notice to move out April 15 or signing up for another year. I signed up for another year.

(1) The guys in the apartment overlooking mine who have been so disruptive since I moved in (April 2017) will be forcibly moving out March 4, says the apartment manager. Also, the maintenance room next to my apartment is no longer a (loud) hangout for the maintenance dudes since the hiring of an older guy several months ago, who seems to keep his team out doing work instead of goofing off next-door to me and my thin walls. (The apartment manager is probably the main reason I'm staying: Unlike many past managers, this one is very much on top of things and responsive.)
(2) The rent is staying exactly the same: $1275 monthly for 1200 sq ft. A prime Austin location on Burnet Road. Months-long searches on Craigslist have yielded 600-700 sq ft apartments for the same price.
(3) No view, but... pretty quiet. At my last apartment at the more-desirable North Loop location (just a mile or so south, also off Burnet), the loud-voiced guy downstairs yelled constantly, a new neighbor blared his stereo at 4am, and a newly moved-in couple held frequent parties, shot off fireworks in the parking lot, etc. I liked that location better, but the neighbors were worse.
(4) I'm currently a 10-minute drive from work. I also like being able to walk 20 ft to the pool in the summer. And the laundry room is steps away (yet not so close that I have to listen to people there).
(5) Honestly, I don't feel like moving again so soon. It's not like it was when I was 20 or 30 and had a bed and a foam sofa that my friends could haul in a pickup. I've got a lot of shit now. Movers can always take care of the heavy lifting, but... I was not up for packing up my books and random stuff at this point. 2017 was a bad year, emotionally, and I feel that I still need to recuperate and stay still for a little while.

Lastly, I had a niggling sensation that I hadn't yet given this apartment a chance. 1200 sq ft! A "study" that I'd parked some shelves and books in, but that I'd never used. A bedroom that I rarely use (sleeping on the couch) because of the huge window that I think passers-by can see through, and that didn't have a TV to watch while falling asleep. A big pile of boxes sitting around that I'd been saving up for 10 months in anticipation of a move. Junky. There's a lot of potential here that has not been realized. A project for the next year.

Ein Schiff wird kommen (Never on Sunday) Caterina Valente

Caterina Valente - Tschau Tschau Bambina (1959)

The Times Are Tidy (Plath, 1958)

Unlucky the hero born
In this province of the stuck record
Where the most watchful cooks go jobless
And the mayor's rotisserie turns
Round of its own accord.

There's no career in the venture
Of riding against the lizard,
Himself withered these latter-days
To leaf-size from lack of action:
History's beaten the hazard.

The last crone got burnt up
More than eight decades back
With the love-hot herb, the talking cat,
But the children are better for it,
The cow milks cream an inch thick.

To Move or Not To Move

My lease runs out April 15. I've got to decide by February 15 (in 3 days) whether or not to stay for another year.

Pros for moving: I'm claustrophic as hell here. I want to be in a house or on the 2nd floor of a building, being able to breathe fresh air at night with my windows open. There's no air draft here. My row of apartments is between two other rows of apartments. No trees outside of my windows: On one side, I see air conditioners. On the other side, where I have a small backyard, I see other apartments towering over me. There are often people walking by my apartment at all hours.

Cons for moving: The rent is staying exactly the same: $1275. And I have 1200 square feet of space. Austin rent is so tight right now, this is a really good deal. And the dick-neighbors that I initially had a problem with when I first moved in (loud parties, etc.) are out of here March 15. (I asked.) It's only 10 minutes from work. The management is very good and responsive. It's a huge hassle to move. I've got $400 in cash tucked away in a book that I've been saving for movers --- from winning a $100 Trump election bet back in 2016 and from doing freelance work.... If I don't move, I can use the money to buy a bedroom TV and new microwave.

Part of me wants to stay --- the most comfortable thing. Especially knowing that the dick-neighbors will be gone. Plus I feel that this 1200-square-feet of space can be worked with. I haven't given it a fair chance (boxes still stacked up and never put away since I moved in a year ago).

But part of me (always) wants to gamble and try something new and better. In a better "walking" neighborhood, an "old Austin" neighborhood, like where I used to live in the '80s and '90s. Aiming for trees around me...

Except that I'm really old now -- 52 -- and I've seen how "gambling" has gone in the past. My current apartment situation is decent. Any new apartment I get could possibly be 100 times worse. (Trees, in a cool location, but really crappy, loud neighbors that the management won't control.)

Yeah, yeah. I'm sure I'll let you know in 3 days.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

p.s. Because I absolutely can't decide for myself, I've asked for signs from the Universe re the April 15 deadline. And I've gotten some!

(1) A notice from my apartment management that the free basic cable from Spectrum would be ending on April 15. (I absolutely hate Spectrum and their shitty service.)
(2) I've been reading a Lincoln bio by David Herbert Donald; Lincoln was shot on April 14 and died on April 15.
(3) Last week I was watching a PBS program about the Titanic; the Titanic sank on April 15.
(4) Yesterday, I was watching "In Cold Blood" on TCM; the killers, Perry and Hickok, were executed on April 14...

I can't, though, figure it out: If many bad things happened on a certain date, are you supposed to stay in the same place or MOVE? (Surely, if Lincoln and the Titanic passengers had stayed home, they would not have died...)

Sylvia Plath died today, 1963

Love Letter 

Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn't just tow me an inch, no--
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course,
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.

That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake
Masked among black rocks as a black rock
In the white hiatus of winter--
Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure
In the million perfectly-chiseled
Cheeks alighting each moment to melt
My cheek of basalt. They turned to tears,
Angels weeping over dull natures,
But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of ice.

And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I saw was sheer air
And the locked drops rising in a dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I shone, mica-scaled, and unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.

Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig:
An arm and a leg, an arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my soul-shift
Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.

(Sylvia Plath: October 16, 1960)

Caterina Valente - Ganz Paris träumt von der Liebe

Caterina Valente - Das hab' ich gleich gewusst (1956)

Caterina Valente - Tipitipitipso (1957)

Caterina Valente - Melodia d'amore

One of my parents' 5 or 6 albums around the house while I was growing up was Caterina Valente's "Schlagerparade." Here's "Melodia d'amore," which I remember most of hers, along with "Tipitipitipso."

1937: Joan Crawford by Hurrell

Collusion: Trump or the FBI/DOJ?

2009: Christopher Steele, former M16 British intelligence officer, retires.

2015: Private Washington DC research firm, Fusion GPS, is hired by an anonymous anti-Trump Republican donor to research Trump since it's rumored he might run for President.

Spring 2016:  Republican donor tells Fusion GPS to drop the project.

Spring 2016:  Fusion GPS hires Steele to investigate Trump ties to Russia. The Hillary Clinton campaign and Democratic National Committee (DNC) pay for Steele's research through the law firm Perkins Coie.

Spring/Summer 2016: Former Merrill Lynch businessman Carter Page, who has business ties with Russia, volunteers for Trump campaign and is accepted as an advisor.

September 2016: Page is dismissed by Trump campaign.

October 2016:  Steele is fired by the FBI as a source, for FBI violations including contacts with media such as Yahoo News and Mother Jones magazine. After dismissal, Steele is in contact with then-Associate Deputy Attorney General of the Department of Justice (DOJ) Bruce Ohr. Ohr's wife, Nellie, had begun working for Fusion GPS in May 2016.

Late October 2016 thru early 2017: Page is surveilled by FBI under a Foreign Intelligence Surveillance (FISA) warrant.

January 2017:  Steele drafts the now infamous "Trump dossier" (alleging that Trump hired prostitutes in Russia to piss on a bed once slept in by Obama), which he shares with BuzzFeed.

May 2017:  Former (2001-2013) FBI head Robert Mueller is appointed head of the Special Counsel investigation into Russian interference in the 2016 US election by Deputy Attorney General Rod Rosenstein (after Attorney General Jeff Sessions recuses himself).

July 2017:  Peter Strzok, the top FBI agent investigating Trump's alleged Russian ties, is removed from the investigation after thousands of his anti-Trump text messages are revealed.

December 2017:  Then-Deputy FBI Director Andrew McCabe testifies before the House Intelligence Committee that "no surveillance warrant would have been sought" from the FISA court "without the Steele dossier information."

And Steele was paid first by an anti-Trump Republican, and then by the Hillary Clinton campaign and the DNC, to do opposition research. He found no evidence of "collusion." What the memo released today did show, however, is evidence of Clinton and the DNC and the FBI and the DOJ colluding to prevent Donald Trump from becoming President.

https://www.vox.com/policy-and-politics/2018/2/2/16956014/nunes-memo-carter-page

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special_Counsel_investigation_(2017%E2%80%93present)

I've been poor and lovelorn...

...and I've been comfortable and lovelorn.

Let me tell ya: "Comfortable and lovelorn" is 100% better.

There's still the niggling sensation, but in the meantime, you can order whatever stuff you want and pretty much live in a place close to what you want. And that does somewhat cover your feelings of loss.

I speak from experience. Try it. Try getting a little more money and then see just how your past obsessions with random idiots fades. When you bump yourself up, you see a whole new group of people --- equally interesting, but far less dysfunctional, obviously, since they've made it to a higher level. I've dumbed myself down for so long, I'm grateful to finally be around smart people.

To Move or Not To Move

1200-sq-ft place. 6 minutes from work. Rent ($1275) is not going up. Those are the good things.

Bad things:

No view at all. (Surrounded by other buildings, claustrophobic. Actual and potentially loud people in those buildings. I'm currently on the ground floor, but I miss being above-ground, I miss trees.)

Bugs. I killed at least 15 big roaches between April 2017 and October 2017. The most I've ever seen in ANY place I've ever lived in.

When I moved in last April (2017), there was an apartment full of dicks overlooking my own apartment who hung out constantly outside, partied constantly by the pool (traipsing past my apartment on their way there), let their dogs run loose, set off fireworks on July 4, etc.

Those guys will be gone by mid-March. (Many others besides me complained about them; according to the apartment manager, their lease won't be renewed after it's up this March.)

Those guys were the worst, but there are still a few other minor annoyances: A girl across from me has a constantly barking dog. Just above her is an apartment full of 2-5 punks who are constantly stepping outside to smoke (they're obviously not rich --- why can't they smoke inside their apartment? What exactly would they be damaging by their smoke?).

But that's just minor stuff that I can live with.

My current place isn't my dream. I'd hoped that at 52 I could be living exactly where I wanted. But it's not so. And where I am is tolerable.

I still haven't decided. I have until February 15 to give the 2-month notice required by the apartment complex. I keep checking Craigslist/Austin for available rentals (duplexes or townhomes --- anything where I'm not surrounded by people on all sides) in my price range ($1400 tops) --- there's barely anything in this market.

Why Revolutions Happen

http://fortune.com/2018/01/26/trump-asked-for-a-van-gogh-got-offered-a-golden-toilet/

President Trump recently asked the Guggenheim museum for a loan of a Van Gogh painting. The museum refused and offered him instead a toilet installation named "America."

And we wonder why intellectuals used to be arrested in decades/centuries past. I grew up being taught that such a thing was horrible. But now I'm understanding exactly why it happened. Not that said "intellectuals" were the more righteous and honest; rather, they were utterly DIShonest.

When Obama was President, he got severe criticism from right-wing quarters that I'd never heard of.

Now that Trump is President, mainstream media and institutions (like the Guggenheim with this disgusting, snarky "America" toilet offering) that I grew up with are insanely bashing him, sans any attempt at fairness or reality. NO attempt at fairness. I grew up with ABC/CBS/NBC/PBS/NPR, and my once-beloved "New Yorker" magazine... Even "Rolling Stone" and "Vanity Fair," which I used to subscribe to in the '90s... I can't turn on/read ANY of these things any more!

Definition of Fascism: Control of the media and schools (and thus of all information---until the Internet Age). That's exactly what's happened in America since '68 or so. See any poll of journalists and teachers/professors: 90% support left-wing globalist ideas.

George Harrison - (1987) When We Was Fab

George Harrison - Ballad Of Sir Frankie Crisp (Let It Roll) - Lyrics

The Traveling Wilburys - End Of The Line

If I died right now, it would be OK (not really, of course, but kind of)

(1) I've done pretty much in the world all that I'm gonna do: www.joancrawfordbest.com

(2) I'm 52, I've got no kids, I don't like/speak to my parents, I don't speak to my brother. I've had no-one to be with at Christmas for the past 2 years.

(3) I've got no friends. That sounds harsh, but it's true: People I bonded with as a young person in the '80s and '90s all moved away from Austin in the '90s. In the 2000s, I met a couple of club friends, but they weren't really good friends.

(4) I like my current job. I like working on the Joan website. That's probably good enough.

I guess what's left is trying to better myself living-wise. I'm currently paying $1275 a month for rent. I could conceivably buy a condo or a small house given my income level and ability to pay that rent. I do need some sort of goal to strive for. I feel like the youthful goals of Love and Friendship are gone now... Make Do with what is left.

March 1961. Joan Crawford et al.

This group looks decadent as hell. (Joan Crawford with artist Piero Aversa, left, and art dealer Walstein Findlay.) I can definitely see the Youth Revolution coming in response to this kind of early-60s generic, stagnant scene. (A "revolution" that would, in itself, turn far more creepy and destructive than the mere cheesiness of early 60s entertainment.)

Still, I'm hardly ever depressed by anything Joan Crawford. There's usually some sort of psychic energy there. Here, her time is about to be past after 30 years, yet... she's still, at nearly 60, completely ON.

Paul McCartney - Maybe I'm Amazed (1970)

Paul McCartney - Junk (1970)

Was listening to a lot of things tonight (Cranberries, Stones, etc.), still feeling empty...
Paul's first solo album made me feel better.

The Cranberries - Dreams (1993)

RIP Dolores O'Riordan

Back on the Bus

After getting my car in July of 2016 I think it was, I have not been on the bus since.

Today, though, was a Snow/Ice Day in Austin -- my work, schools closed down, etc.

When I looked out the window, I saw no ice. And there was none. I live within 2 miles of work, and decided to go on in (earning comp time), taking the Austin "Rapid" bus system that I used to take all the time years ago, which has stops close to my current apartment.

The way there: No big deal. Until I got off on my work campus. To be polite, I called out, as you're supposed to do: "Thank you!" to the driver as I stepped off. He replied in a weirdly sing-songy overtly girly voice (obviously mocking me), "You're wel-come!" OK.

After working a few hours, I went to the bus-stop to get home. It was about 5pm. The digital display showed arrival time of the bus in 3 minutes. I stood there for a while, then checked the display again: Now, the arrival time was 11 minutes. After waiting a few more minutes, I checked again: Arrival time was 15 minutes.

THIS is exactly why I was so eager to get a car. The constant bullshit involved with bus-riding. #1, the dick driver on the way there. #2, the completely ridiculous grid not displaying the correct times.

As it turned out, I left my office at around 4:55pm. I live 2 miles away. I didn't get home until 5:45pm. Liberals shouldn't complain about why people don't want to take public transportation.

1937: FDR meets Joan Crawford

1937. FDR in Poughkeepsie, New York, with Joan Crawford "Bride Wore Red" billboard.

Books!

Packages sitting around my apartment since September. I just finally opened all of them yesterday.

Welcome to California, the junkiest, most 3rd-world state in the country.

Secede already, wouldja? Take your 9th Circuit Court and go peacably...

Joan Crawford, 1929

Hunkered down for New Year's Eve in Austin

45 minutes until the New Year (Central time). Stocked the fridge earlier today. Am steeled against whatever jerks set off fireworks within my apartment complex (as they did on July 4). Old (like me) = worried about loud noises rather than planning where you're going on New Year's Eve.

p.s. The Trump socks: I bought them pre-election 2016 and have never gotten to wear them. What better time than... ALONE FOR NEW YEAR'S! :)

The Shape of Water

My adventure for this Friday was taking the bus to downtown Austin to see "The Shape of Water" at Violet Crown on 2nd St.

I arrived early and was walking around with time to kill when a young man approached me at an intersection: "Sorry to bother you, but do you know where the new library is?"

While wandering around aimlessly, I had been wondering the same thing: The newly opened big-deal-of-a-library was somewhere in the area, but I hadn't seen it. I apologized for not knowing, explaining that I was just killing time before a movie. What movie? I told him. His girlfriend had just "made him" see "The Shape of Water," but he didn't like it. Why not? He didn't know --- just wasn't his thing. What about (my second and third choices for holiday films) the Churchill movie and "Three Billboards"? He liked Churchill... I wished him luck as we crossed separate streets.

After briefly contemplating changing my movie plans after talking to a complete stranger (!), I went on see "The Shape of Water."

It was, in many ways, an intensely beautiful movie. It was shot beautifully. And I am so utterly alone that I, of course, related completely to the mute main character, to her ageing gay neighbor, to the "monster." To the sympatico, delicate connections. THAT was the beautiful part of the movie: "We are not alone."

Plot-wise, the film was also intense: The Evil Villain versus the Good Guys. I cringed and got angry where appropriate; I cried.

The acting was great: Michael Shannon as the Bad Guy (whom I'd just recently seen in a funnily evil bit on the Amy Sedaris show) was the best; Sally Hawkins as the The Mute was very good (especially her "FUCK YOU" signing scene).

The film was based on "The Creature of the Black Lagoon" --- director Guillermo del Toro has said in interviews that he had a fantasy about the Gill-man ending up with the Girl. That's a thing unto itself. (I had my own fantasy about "Sunset Boulevard.) And that fantasy of "the Beast" winding up with its object of desire is a long-standing thing (realized here). As is the non-sexual fantasy of "the Beast" potentially being rescued: Frankenstein, King Kong, ET, Trog...

My problem with this movie, though, was that the "other" wasn't explored very intelligently or subtly. There was a lot of heavy-handed social critiquing going on. For instance, the main character and her gay neighbor like to go to a "Southern" diner where the studly young counter-man calls out to customers "Y'all come back now, y'hear!" The gay neighbor  has a crush on the young man. At one point, the two start to have a personal conversation about being alone in the city; as soon as the older gay man takes the young man's hand, the latter pulls back ---- then a black couple comes into the diner and the young man tells them to get out... Point taken: "Southern" and "white" is "Evil."

Same goes for the main "Bad Guy": He's a Fed; he reads "The Power of Positive Thinking" in his spare time; he fucks his wife with his shirt on; he crudely comes on to the saintly Eliza; he mocks black people; he sucks up to a general; he adheres to protocol. In an A-movie, I've never seen such a blatantly negative portrayal. Shannon was riveting in the role, but his role was cartoonishly one-sided.

(In other blatant ridiculousness from the director: "Movie-watching = Good; TV-watching = Bad.)

In other, more intelligently done, movies where an "alien" was involved, directors were more subtle. Think of "ET." Often, there's a scientific argument about what is to be done with the alien creature... This movie, though, takes a completely simplistic ham-handed approach. I got over that to enjoy the ride, but I was still obviously aware of the ham-handedness.

"The Shape of Water" was a very good, simplistic B-movie. In the "olden days," not Oscar-worthy (but just watch --- it'll get a bunch this year.)

Say Ginny had not left me...

We knew each other in high school in the spring and summer of 1983.

She died in 1988.

1983 to 1988, she came and went in and out of my life. I was in college in Austin, but I was also conscious of what she was doing.

She called me in 1987, asking if I'd graduated yet. (Since I'd gone off to college in '83, I should have graduated by 1987 -- I hadn't.) She then got her "other" friend to come stay with her while she died in Georgia.

But what if I'd been with Ginny when she died? What if I'd stayed in Azle after I graduated in '83 just to be with her? I think I would have done so if she'd wanted me. [Edit a few days later: I was winning all sorts of minor awards in high school and clearly going off to college in Austin. Ginny wanted me during my senior year of high school, but it was clear that I was going off to college. She could have joined me in Austin a year later, when she graduated; but by then she'd chosen someone else. I would NEVER have stayed in Azle in 1983. I had too much of life before me to investigate.]

And after she died in Georgia? I would have been a lost soul. I'd probably be working as an Admin Assistant today.

When I came to college in Austin in '83, I used to constantly bemoan why she wasn't with me. Every experience that I had, every club I went to, every apartment I lived in wasn't as good because she wasn't there. Such an ugly, creepy feeling. She didn't want me, but I didn't like what I was living because she wasn't there. I went on with living, but it wasn't as good.

Say she'd wanted me...  I used to think that I would bring her into my college world because I was so serious about it; but she could just as easily have dragged me into her world --- her nothing-world, where she worked at a record store at a mall, and stole from them... And then blamed me, in Austin, where she brought her stolen tapes to sell.

All of this is nothing. She was an idiot. But she was more memories than I've ever had with anyone else.

Making my choice for me

Ever since I moved into my current apartment last April, I've been undecided about whether I'll stay here. A huge stack of boxes in my living room (saved in case I need them for books) is testament to my indecision.

Today, I did a search for my apartment complex on Craigslist. I pay $1275. The ad for the same exact apartment was for $1375.

No way. I have a front-view of air-conditioners. I have a small backyard, but with layers of other apartment dwellers looking down on that backyard. I never go out there.

I've been arguing with myself: It's quiet, except for when I'm home between 8 and 5 and have to listen to the maintenance guys banging around next door.

I've been 50/50. If rent is going up to $1375, I'm for sure leaving. This is a generic place. For $1375, I could at least get an apartment downtown or a duplex or something somewhere.

February 15, I must make up my mind.

Praying for Rain

On Christmas Eve, some assholes were actually shooting off fireworks in my neighborhood!

I'd never (literally) heard such a thing before. I knew that July 4 and New Year's Eve were holidays for fireworks... but on CHRISTMAS EVE??? It went on from about 10:45pm to 1:45am.

Can't wait for this coming Sunday... My only hope is the weather on Sunday night (New Year's Eve): There is a possibility of rain and sleet. Dear god, let it rain and sleet and snow and drive these creeps back into their hovels.

I think it's fair for fireworks on New Year's Eve being shot off from, say, midnight until 1am... But in my experience in Austin, fuckers keep shooting off stuff until 3am. I'm tensed up ahead of time.

Cyndi Lauper - I Drove All Night (1989)

I had to escape, the city was sticky and cruel
Maybe I should have called you first
But I was dying to get to you
I was dreaming while I drove
The long straight road ahead
Uh-huh, Yeah
Could taste your sweet kisses, your arms open wide
This fever for you was just burning me up inside

I drove all night to get to you
Is that all right?
I drove all night crept in your room
Woke you from your sleep to make love to you
Is that all right?
I drove all night

What in this world keeps us from falling apart?
No matter where I go
I hear the beating of our one heart
I think about you when the night is cold and dark
Uh-huh, yeah
No one can move me the way that you do
Nothing erases this feeling between me and you

I drove all night to get to you
Is that all right?
I drove…

I taste your sweet kisses, your arms open wide
This fever for you was just burning me up inside
I drove all night to get to you
Is that all right?
I drove all night crept in your room
Is that all right?
I drove all night

---------------------------------------------------

I did, in 1994. After doing some detective-work, and drinking quite a bit, I made a 200-mile trek to West Texas, chasing after my boss, where'd he'd gone to cover a football game. Exciting momentarily when I got fucked immediately... but ultimately meaningless and odd: We kind of didn't know what to do with each other in the hotel room after we'd fucked so monumentally. We ordered food; "Tom Jones" happened to be on the hotel cable, so we --- since we were meeting surreptitiously --- awkwardly felt that we had to eat our takeout in a "sexy" fashion a la the "Tom Jones" scene... He was worried about the next morning---he was there with other work friends who might come to his door... And what about the hotel maids?

The next morning, no friends or maids came by, but his wife did call the hotel room; he was in the shower, and I was not a bitch --- I let the phone ring without answering it in a breathless voice. When it was time for checkout, he offered to drive behind me to help me find my way back to Austin... I said thanks, but I could do it myself. (The drive home much less exciting when sober.)

I felt guilty and skanky as hell in 1994.... But come to think of it 25 years (!) later... The aftermath was dumbly depressing, but during the drive there, and when I first knocked on his hotel-room door, and when we first fucked...nothing but exciting anticipation.

I missed out on Christmas this year...

Usually I get into the spirit o' the season back in late October/early November, planning what to get people (Mom, brother, his wife, nephews).

This year, though... Mom told me back in August that she's leaving her house to me --- but it will be 50% owned by my brother. So I can just live in it.

Right.

What was once, 10 years ago, a 50-50 split between me and my brother became a 1/3, 1/3, 1/3 split a couple of years ago: Me 1/3, brother 1/3, his two kids sharing the last 1/3.

In August of 2017, everything became: Me 25%, brother 25%, his two kids 25% each.

Like fucking hell. Sure, my mom can do what she wants with her house and her money. But LIKE FUCKING HELL I'm going to be a participant in any part of her lunacy. In fact, I protest against it.

I was/am depressed about no Christmas this year. But I think I abstained for good reason.

"Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive." -- Josephine Hart

Shake It Awf!

Merry Christmas!

Johnny Hallyday, 2006

11 Days Off Checklist

I'm off work Friday, December 22, through Monday, January 1. My goal is to not just drink and then lie on my couch the day after watching TV for any of these days. Here's the progress so far:

Friday, Dec. 22: Got my hair cut.
Saturday, Dec. 23: Went in to the office and worked 6.5 hours.

So far, so good...

For the coming days, I have simple needs: (1) Spend a day in downtown Austin, walking around and seeing a movie (Shape of Water, probably). (2) Clean my apartment. (3) Spend a day walking around my old North Loop hood just a mile south: Sue Patrick store, Dollar Store (buying some lighters), Savers, the used book store, with the church re-sale shop just up the street. (4) Give my car a present and wash it, inside and out.

So far, so good...

Johnny Mathis - O Holy Night

Johnny Hallyday Live 1963 Amsterdam

France's Johnny Hallyday died on December 5. The whole city of Paris came out on December 9 for his funeral procession. I got goosebumps at seeing such an homage. People actually still remember and honor their own...

As for the US... We've been co-opted. We're not allowed to appreciate Elvis any more. Here's what we're now "supposed to" think (courtesy of Public Enemy, 1990, and supported by today's media):

Elvis was a hero to most
But he never meant shit to me you see
Straight up racist that sucker was
Simple and plain
Motherfuck him and John Wayne
Cause I'm Black and I'm proud
I'm ready and hyped plus I'm amped
Most of my heroes don't appear on no stamps
Sample a look back you look and find
Nothing but rednecks for 400 years if you check...


FUCK OFF, Public Enemy. I want my country back.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rolling Stones (1966)

Waiting for someone to come out of somewhere...

Hecate, Greek Goddess of the Crossroads (turn-of-the-century depictions)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hecate 

Interesting that in the 1880s, when France gifted the Liberty statue to the US, the likeness was attributed to "Libertas," a minor so-called "liberty goddess" of the Romans --- much less troubling or interesting than the major Greek goddess Hecate, upon which one-third of the Statue of Liberty was actually based.

11 days off coming right up...

What the hell to do??

One day: Take public transportation to downtown to look at Christmas lights, plus see a movie at the downtown Violet Crown theater: Churchill, or Three Billboards, or The Shape of Water.

One day: Take public transportation to the new Austin library that just opened: http://library.austintexas.gov/central-library


Ummmm.... And then... Clean my apartment (the living-room rug definitely needs vacuuming)? Use my new camera that I haven't yet figured out to take pictures of stuff to sell on eBay? Go into work and earn credits that I don't need? OK. Oh, and go dump the 4 bags of clothes I've sorted out into a charity bin.

There. Stuff to do.

When no one loves you...

...think back to when someone loved you.

In very dark times lately, I keep seeing Ginny's face peering into the stock-room of the K-Mart where I worked in Azle as a teen. I normally worked in the women's department out on the floor, but someone that day had told Ginny that I was back in the stock-room. She peered in, with her hair Vaselined, and wearing a sleeveless shirt that we'd both recently just bought from K-Mart, in different colors.

Vaselined. It was 1983, and we didn't know about hair products. The girl had coated her hair with Vaseline, and put on the sleeveless shirt, and come to show me. I remember her smiling face at the doorway, and me grinning back at her.

She later left me, but before she did:

One time I was at home suffering greatly from menstrual cramps, to the point where I couldn't leave my bed without throwing up; I even had a bucket beside my bed. Ginny came over. And the second she showed up at my bedroom doorway, a wave of what I now know as "endorphins" took over.... No more cramps, no more nausea. A miracle.

What else? Oh yeah, when I once spent the night with her as a teen, her parents' house had a ventilation system that blew air upwards upstairs: I accidentally stepped over the vent and my nightgown blew up... "I feel like Marilyn Monroe!" I quipped. It was funny; she laughed.

I dunno, a hundred other things. We went with her family to Georgia together. We stayed in a hotel room with her parents and watched "Endless Love" on cable, trying to be quiet.

Point is, she left me. Point is: Someone once loved me. Today, in my darkness, I remember how her happy face (and her terribly Vaselined hair) looked at the K-Mart doorway. I remember how she miraculously made my cramps go away. (I remember our car breaking down on the highway and the two cop-cars that passed us by without stopping to help; I remember our matching "Frances Lives" T-shirts bought from Ridgmar Mall in Fort Worth.)

Shortly after, I went off to college, thinking: "I'll experience many loves..." As it has turned out, I never experienced anything like Ginny. I came home from college for a summer or two, tried to re-connect with her... We watched "The Wall" together with her new love, Cindy, tagging along --- Ginny was horrified by the violence of the movie and left the theater; Cindy went with her. I stayed, admiring the film...

Once I was back in Austin, Ginny then came to visit me, trying to sell stolen CDs, and got busted... All a fucking mess.

She died in 1988, at 22, because she couldn't get a heart transplant.

Ginny didn't love me in the end, but... she did love me at one point. We wore intentionally matching shirts; we wore intentionally mis-matched socks. We slept in a hotel room watching "Endless Love" together with her parents in the next bed.

I have nothing in my life today, but I remember.

I haven't talked to anyone on a deeper level for ages...

At the office working overtime this Saturday, ran into a couple of co-workers. One, originally from Turkey, in Austin for 5 years, lived in London, Portland, Toronto; offered jobs in Dubai, Saudi Arabia, et al., which he didn't take because of the societies.

I stood there in the hallway and talked to him for over an hour about different places to live, different public transportation systems, different political systems, different religious beliefs, the current international immigration crisis, how the Japanese are a very organized society (and very helpful when seeking transportation advice), and the curiosity of living in Austin above a neighbor whose apartment is completely trashed... He is defensive about thinking that Austin is "just OK." I've been in the town since '83, with a couple of breaks, and I told him that Austin hasn't been good since the early '90s.

He's off tomorrow to London, then to his family's vacation house in Turkey for the holiday season. Not looking forward to the air travel because of how ill-organized it is nowadays. Once on the Continent, he'll travel by train...

I'm not sexually attracted to the man, but I am very much attracted to the dozens of countries he's lived in, and his sociological opinions of all of them. I can't remember the last time that I had an intellectual/personal conversation with anyone.

The Rolling Stones - Out Of Time (1966)

The Rolling Stones ~ Mother's Little Helper (1966)

President Donald Trump holds rally in Pensacola, Florida | ABC News

12/8/17

You Can't Always Get What You Want

Listening to the Stones tonight.
Trump always played "You Can't Always Get What You Want" (1969) at his rallies.

1942: Merry F****** Christmas. Love, Joan

Stud

The Rolling Stones - Just My Imagination (Live, 1978)

I look out my window, watch her as she passes by
I say to myself I'm such a lucky guy
To have a girl like her is a dream come true
And of all the girls in New York she loves me true

It was just my imagination, once again
Running away with me
It was just my imagination
Running away with me

Soon we'll be married and raise a family
Two boys for you, what about two girls for me
I tell you I am just a fellow with a one track mind
Whatever it is I want baby I seek and I shall find
I'll tell ya

It was just my imagination, once again
Running away with me
It was just my imagination
Running away with me

Every night I hope and pray
"Dear lord, hear my plea
Don't ever let another take her love from me
Or I will surely die"

Her love is ecstasy
When her arms enfold me
I hear her tender rhapsody
But in reality, she doesn't fucking know me!

The Rolling Stones - Shattered - 1978

Shattered, shattered
Love and hope and sex and dreams
Are still surviving on the street
Look at me, I'm in tatters!
I'm a shattered
Shattered
Friends are so alarming
And my lover's never charming
Life's just a cocktail party on the street
Big Apple
People dressed in plastic bags
Directing traffic
Some kind of fashion
Shattered
Laughter, joy, and loneliness and sex and sex and sex and sex
Look at me, I'm in tatters
I'm a shattered
Shattered
All this chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter 'bout
Shmatta, shmatta, shmatta -- I can't give it away on 7th Avenue
This town's been wearing tatters (shattered, shattered)
Work and work for love and sex
Ain't you hungry for success, success, success, success
Does it matter? (Shattered) Does it matter?
I'm shattered.
Shattered
Ahhh, look at me, I'm a shattered
I'm a shattered
Look at me- I'm a shattered, yeah
Pride and joy and greed and sex
That's what makes our town the best
Pride and joy and dirty dreams and still surviving on the street
And look at me, I'm in tatters, yeah
I've been battered, what does it matter
Does it matter, uh-huh
Does it matter, uh-huh, I'm a shattered
Don't you know the crime rate is going up, up, up, up, up
To live in this town you must be tough, tough, tough, tough, tough!
You got rats on the west side
Bed bugs uptown
What a mess, this town's in tatters I've been shattered
My brain's been battered, splattered all over Manhattan
Uh-huh, this town's full of money grabbers
Go ahead, bite the Big Apple, don't mind the maggots, huh
Shadoobie, my brain's been battered
My friends they come around they
Flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter
Pile it up, pile it high on the platter

"What made you question fake media?"

My cousin asked me on Facebook yesterday: "What made you question fake media?"

I'm a bit slow... I didn't fully get it until the spring of 2016 ---- Syrian refugees streaming into Europe. I read the UK Daily Mail, which showed photos of the refugees... From the UK Daily Mail, I learned that the refugees were refusing to stop in countries like Hungary --- the first to take them. Instead, they were holding out for Sweden and Germany --- the countries that offered the best benefits.

At the same time, US media, and US State Department spokespeople, were saying that Syrian refugees were "primarily women and children." I'd seen the pictures on Daily Mail, and I knew that said refugees were 95% men. The Daily Mail also showed photos of refugee camps; in one photo, there was a sign: "Borders are Racist."

At that point, I knew I was being lied to. REAL refugees would simply want to get out of their war-torn country. They wouldn't distinguish among which European country offered better benefits; they certainly wouldn't stop to offer a "Borders are racist" left-wing philosophy --- real refugees would have held up signs saying "Help Us."

Trump was campaigning right about then....And he pointed out everything that I just said above. And he also pointed out, more seriously, how it wasn't right for US companies to invest globally and not in our own country. He also pointed out that constant global wars weren't productive in any way.

Fake news? George W Bush and Barack Obama --- the most incompetent Presidents in our country's history --- got a million passes. Bush stood for nothing; Obama tried to illegally pass socialist programs without Congressional support, as required by law. Post these two?

Trump, who has no skin in the game, is trying to Drain the Swamp, clean up the mess.

Ooops, sorry! I didn't answer your question re questioning "fake media":

I used to watch nothing but CNN and MSNBC. I only started watching Fox about 6 years ago because I was curious about how horrible everyone was painting it out to be. As it turned out, every Fox show features Democrats with contradicting opinions, whereas, today, CNN and MSNBC only offer anti-Trump propaganda --- as an independent thinker, I can't watch them.

Thank you, ABC, for being honest.

After erroneous Flynn report, ABC News suspends Brian Ross:
www.yahoo.com/news/abc-news-suspends-brian-ross-serious-reporting-error-231534531.html

A president-elect contacting Russia (December 2016) re that country's stance on Israel, Isis, or whatever isn't "collusion."