Kareem’s Villain of the Week

via Reddit.Com

Many of you already know that I’m a huge admirer of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s intellect and writing. Today he hits the target again – and again and again.

Yep, it’s a long post. Here are just a couple of the highlights.

12m Americans believe violence is justified to restore Trump to power
(June 16, 2023)

by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar

I’m going to start with a favorite quote from Dorothy Thompson, the first American journalist to be expelled from Nazi Germany in 1934: “Peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of creative alternatives for responding to conflict.” Seeking creative alternatives to violence is what intelligent, civilized, and compassionate people do.

But for some Americans—at least 12 million anyway—violence is their default setting for conflict resolution.

We have to be aware that these people probably can’t be dissuaded from their eagerness to violence. The gun is to them what a microphone is to a singer on amateur night: a way to amplify their voice to an audience they believe doesn’t hear them. To be fair, we do hear them gleefully spouting their drivel on social media, but we ignore what they have to say because, so often, it’s nonsense. Ten percent believe the government is run by Satan-worshipping pedophiles? Twenty percent believe the election was stolen? They proudly hold tight to opinions unsupported by evidence that has been repeatedly debunked. There’s no reasoning with them.

Which is exactly why the GOP pursue them so diligently. They will vote loyally no matter what you do or say, like cult members.

Suppression breeds violence. Usually, it’s those being suppressed that have no other path to freedom than to violently revolt against their oppressors. In this case, it’s the oppressors who want to resort to violence in order to maintain the status quo of being oppressors. Of minorities. Of women. Of non-Christains. Of LGBTQ+. To justify their violence fetish, they cast themselves in the role of being oppressed by a society hellbent on righting past wrongs and maturing past a morally and economically bankrupt philosophy of “Greed is good….”

LB: And, a bit further down, he gives us this:

...I’m not sure when GOP hardliners became that belligerent bozo in Westerns who whips up the drunks in a saloon to kill the sheriff and lynch the accused. I’m not sure when, but I am sure that’s who they are now….

Read it all at Kareem’s SubStack Blog

LYMI,

LaughingEagle

An Interesting Look into the Current Writers Guild Strike

(via wga.org)

I didn’t write this article, but I wish I had. I find myself agreeing with Zack Arnold (below) as much as I did with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar a few weeks ago. And that was a hell of a lot of agreement.

What do you all think?

Guest Column: If Writers Lose the Standoff With Studios, It Hurts All Filmmakers
by Zack Arnold

No matter the job title or craft, the writers strike is the inflection point for the future of how all filmmakers will make a living (or won’t) in the entertainment industry. As artists, creatives and storytellers, this is our last, best and final opportunity to refuse the way we currently do business as “normal,” because as we learned three years ago when the world shut down, “normal wasn’t working.” If we want things to change, It’s now or never.

Whether it’s the acceptance of 16-hour-plus days (and “Fraturdays,” late Friday shoots that go into early Saturday hours) as normal, rolling lunches with no actual meal breaks, wages not even remotely keeping pace with inflation, the expectation anyone working from home is available 24/7 for notes and revisions, the Uberfication of mini-rooms (a small group of writers assembled before a formal series order) that exploit writers’ time and ideas, hiding residual pay in mysterious streaming data, and the complete erosion of any boundaries between work and life — we are dangerously close to the extinction of filmmaking as a sustainable career path….

Read it all at the Hollywood Reporter

LYMI,

Laughing Eagle

LB: Live! From Paradise #241 – “Christmas Thoughts – 2009”

(The Intro above is from this column's previous web incarnation)

by Larry Brody

There’s something about December…

How can I not love the month that gives us:

My birthday! (Chocolate cake every year I can remember. And, this year, genuine Chicago deep dish pizza, from the loving arms of UPS.)

Hanukkah! (Eight nights of gifts every year of my childhood, from the loving arms of my parents. And, this year, more Chicago pizza.)

Christmas! (The tree, the caroling, eggnog every year since I became an adult. And, this year, no pizza but the wonderful opportunity to communicate via this space.)

Cold weather! (Colder than any month but February at the least. Icy nasal passage cold in years my shiver-friendly self gets lucky.)

And, this year, an added bonus in the form of a healthy Gwen the Beautiful.

I haven’t written about Gwen’s problems for awhile, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t had them. Especially over the last six months, when she was wracked with stomach pain that got so bad it was impossible for her to eat.

Lost 20 pounds the last two weeks of November, my wife did, and no one could figure out what was going on until a terrific M.D. named Simmy Goyle, currently residing in L.A. but formerly of London, New Delhi, and St. Louis, put us in touch with another terrific M.D by the name of Peter Warner, who practices within two hours of Paradise in Springfield, MO.

Shortly after my birthday, Gwen was hospitalized and Peter put her through a battery of tests showing that even though Gwen’s specific symptoms were unusual, the cause was an underachieving gall bladder, swollen, and up to no good.

Out came the insidious organ, and in came the December—Larry B’s Birthday, Hanukkah, Christmas, cold weather—miracle of no pain and edible meals for Ms. The Beautiful.

To misquote a Disney song I used to hate, “It’s a whole new world” for the Brodys.

And we’re not the only ones here on The Mountain affected that way.

One of the lowlights of this past year was the sudden and unexpected death of one of our horses, Rosie the Romantic Arabian, while Gwen and I were away on the other side of the world.

For weeks, my horse brother, Huck the Spotless Appaloosa, was deep in mourning. How bad was his depression? Well, from the looks of him he lost a lot more weight than Gwen did. I’d estimate about ten times as much.

He’d been alone in the corral—with a few side trips into our backyard and some “interesting” attempts to climb onto the porch—since mid-October, and a Huck who’s alone is a very noisy Appaloosa indeed. He would complain loudly and angrily, and then stop to listen oh-so-closely for a reply he’s clearly been hoping will come from the distance, from Rosie his late mate.

So when Gwen and I drove back up to Cloud Creek Ranch after her surgery we were surprised to see the big guy standing calmly in the center of his area instead of galloping straight to the fence to horse-yodel his usual welcoming demand.

We were used to, “You’re home! It’s about time! Rub me! Nuzzle me! Brush me! Okay, yeah, you can feed me too!”

Instead, we got a little nod and a flick of the lips that I know (because Huck and I have been together for almost all of his life) is a smile.

“Look at that!” Gwen said. “Look at them all!”

I stopped our pickup at the top of the trail we call a driveway. Counted not one, not two, not three or four, but five truly beautiful women standing behind my favorite equine.

No, not human women.

Nor horse-type women either.

Deer.

Five full grown does.

Their eyes as big and as round and as sensitive as Huck’s.

The does’ posture shifted to that of wary attention, directed at us. Huck turned his head toward each doe, one after the other, and nodded again.

Then bucked, kicking out with his rear legs.

“Bye, ladies,” he called out. And, “Thanks for the fun!”

The deer scattered, leaping over the fence on the woodsy side of the corral, and Huck ran to the gate closest to where the truck was idling.

With a truly merry horse laugh, he greeted our return.

“You’re home! It’s about time! Rub me! Nuzzle me! Brush me! Okay, yeah, you can feed me too!”

Should’ve known a cool guy like Huck wouldn’t be alone for very long.

Merry Christmas, y’all, from all of us here at Cloud Creek.