The Weekend in Foolish Attention

Bits and bytes of the week

OH, HOW LIVELY. You may not give a shit (and, truthfully, I barely have a butt nugget to share myself) but Blake Lively—actor, beauty product grifter, and wife to Deadpool—had a rough year in the court of public opinion. It turns out that when she held a meeting during the filming of a movie about domestic violence to address the offensive and sexist behavior of her director and co-star, he went on the offensive and planted dozens of online stories to ‘destroy her’ so he could avoid the career-ending news that he was a fucking skeevebag.

No, if people believed the planted stories it does not reveal how much we all hate women. Women, like men, have the infinite capacity to be flawed pieces of shit routinely and anyone who hates an entire class of human being wholesale is an idiot (yes, that includes cops, Republicans, drag queens, and Cubs fans). In this case, however, the turd in the punch bowl was her co-star. So she got the receipts and sued his ass.

Subsequently, his career has ended until Marvel decides to cast him as the next big villain.

This is, however, a peek into how social media is consistently manipulated to spread gossip and malign others. It is also a defining moment to recognize that the internet, instead of providing us with infinite tools of information, has turned everyone into a middle school girl.

CHRISTMAS MOVIE LIST 2024. There are so many aspects I cherish about the holidays with my family. The laughter, the hugs, the stories, the food. Mom setting me up with the daughter of one of her friends. One thing we always do is gorge ourselves on cheese and Christmas movies. The list this year included:

Red One (2024). If Santa Claus was a wise, ripped version of Nick Fury in the MCU and Steve Rogers pretends to have a Jersey accent.

Carry On (2024). Another version of Die Hard if the hero was a bit of a waffling pussy and Jason Bateman gets to be the evil capitalist.

Gremlins (1984). Joe Dante’s version of Die Hard with puppets.

A Christmas Carol (1984). George C. Scott as the definitive Ebenezer Scrooge. Effectively Die Hard if John McClain were four ghosts and Hans Gruber learns something valuable before being tossed off a building.

Christmas Vacation (1989). The single funniest Christmas movie ever made and the one movie we all must watch before Christmas is over or we are cursed for the entire following year.

Truthfully, we traditionally watch a lot more but this year we just had too much to talk about. As long as we get the Griswolds in there, we’re golden.

IT WAS ALWAYS A CLASS WAR. The ongoing discourse about Tony Bagadonuts, the rich kid who murdered the health insurance CEO, has us centered back on the stratification between the rich and the poor instead of the dull, tired arguments about race, sex, sexual preference, or gender. Seriously, it has always been about economic class but the other stuff is just so easy to zone in on. The difficulty is that no matter how anti-capitalist one portends to be, one big donation that can be used to pay for trips and cars is enough to change the tune and everyone wants that capitalist win. One Lotto win is often enough to get the die-hard class warrior to flip sides.

The class war is a blood-soaked carnival that’s been raging for centuries, a twisted game where the rules are rigged and the referees are on payroll. Picture it: a cabal of cigar-chomping oligarchs perched high above the chaos, drinking scotch that costs more than your rent while the rest of us are left to scrounge for scraps in the gutter. This isn’t some Marxist fever dream—it’s the American reality, a cold, hard slap in the face delivered by the invisible hand of the market.

The working class? Forget about it. They’ve been transformed into debt-addled wage slaves, working three jobs just to keep the lights on while their dreams rot in a shallow grave. And let’s not pretend the so-called middle class is faring any better. That’s a myth, a marketing gimmick designed to keep the masses docile and hopeful. The truth is, they’re just a paycheck or two away from ruin, one medical emergency away from bankruptcy.

Meanwhile, the corporate titans and Wall Street vultures continue their plunder, shielded by bought-and-paid-for politicians and a legal system that values profit over justice. They call it “the free market,” but it’s nothing more than a glorified casino where the house always wins. The rich get richer, the poor get screwed, and anyone who dares to challenge the status quo is branded a lunatic or a communist.

I’m pretty sure it ain’t gonna be won by assassinating random CEOs but what the fuck do I know?

THE NEXT (NEW) YEAR. I’m not one to make New Year’s resolutions but I comprehend and empathize with the impulse to do so. The calendar flip is the illusion of renewal and a fresh start so who am I to debunk that?

My quasi-list is pretty much no different than every year: drop some weight, get back in shape, stop smoking (too fucking expensive in Chi-town to maintain the habit), and get out there and make some stories. In the prostitute book I wrote about being less the protagonist of my own narrative and more that guy in everyone else’s and I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any. Get back to being that guy and less of the guy who used to.

I resolve (in a less than binding way) to make it through Joker 2 and continue to send Jeff Probst videos to get on Survivor. Maybe get back up onstage to tell some stories while making new ones. Start taking free classes at Roosevelt University.

In the meantime, do the job to make the money, have a ball doing it, travel to Wichita as often as is feasible (cuz I love being with my family), and get back to writing. I think it’s time for another I Believe… book and I gots to get busting on the Twenty Perfect Movies tome.

A FEW HOT TAKES TO WRAP UP 2024.

The reason both Marvel and Star Wars fed us crap was not because of identity politics but due to shitty writing and awful storytelling.

While Star Trek gave us the utopian version of our future, The Matrix is the inevitable conclusion to the takeover of the planet by machines.

The next Trump administration will neither be as bad as some predict or as good as some hope. It’ll just be another four years of having to listen to an asshole hold court and try to make as much money as he can while staying out of prison. If he dies in office, he’ll be lionized like Reagan.

Protest is ineffective. Boycotts have more bite in a society centered on the worship of cash.

Climate change is the planet’s immune system course-correcting for a virus. Humans are the virus.

There is only a thin line between selfish and survival.

If it’s self diagnosed, it’s bullshit. If it’s medically diagnosed, it’s a grift to get you hooked on meds. Maybe we should just hunker down and learn to cope with our own shit.

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I’m back on the road, headed to Chicago. Time with my kindreds is live water to a plant (plus a startling good haircut and some underwear). Life is good, the road calls me forward and I’m actually really looking forward to 2025. Hope you are, too.