9 Stories from 2017… That Aren’t Half Bad
Time we put to bed one of the worst years in recent memory. Or perhaps, one of the worst in human history. Depends on how dramatic you are, and how dire you believe our present condition is. Many would say it’s dire. Others might say, as Chinese philosophers once wished the world: May you live in interesting times. These certainly qualify as that. Interesting times. Many have put forward the question: Did you ever wonder what you would’ve done during the Civil Rights era? And they say, the answer is: Whatever you’re doing right now. These times, these days of your life, are part of the great sweep of history, that long arc that bends towards justice. So what are you doing in this moment, in this your eternal present, as you reach towards the dawning future, while your past recedes like a sunset? What are you going to do with right now?
As far as years go, 2017 was a relentless fucker. When it wasn’t busy killing off your faves, it was showing its dick every time it could on the news. This was a year of dicks. No doubt. There were, of course, the antics of our Executive Dick in Chief. Ol’ President Tiny Hands was a daily embarrassment to the nation and his gender. Not to mention, in his administration, the dicks ran wild. Bannon and The Mooch got into a dick-based beef that included claims of auto-fellatio, images everyone wishes they could erase from their memory. (Sorry.)
Of course, the dicks of Hollywood really dominated the news cycle, particularly, the last half of the year. Led by Harvey Weinstein, and forced into the spotlight by the astounding bravery of their victims, an endless perp walk of abusers faced social justice. Real courtroom justice, for the most part, has yet to occur. But across the land, prominent men’s careers and positions were laid low. Abusers were brought down in nearly every industry you can name. And this is just the beginning.
We are witnessing a cultural reckoning. One that is very much overdue. The message is clear: Dicks, y’all can no longer act with impunity. Abuses of power are no longer invisible. Abusers will be accountable. This demand for justice is being heard. And it’s motivating industries into measurable accountability, rather than payoffs and non-disclosure agreements. Shit got real. For everyone. And it’s about damn time.
This moment feels like a hinge of history. What comes next? No one knows. But together, we will shape it. We’re all stuck together in this eternal present, always reaching for the dawn, as our pasts slip into the sunset. But what do we do with right now?
These eight stories are about cultural frictions and generational conflicts; the ghosts of American racism haunting today; the maddening horrors of Syria and their American and European roots; the kindness and twinkly-eyed hope of Willie Nelson, the timeless genius of Nikola Tesla and the future of electricity; and simple things, like, how selfies can help men cultivate more intimate awareness of their emotions, which I think we can all agree men need to do. The last one is a love story, because I think we can all agree we need more of those in this world. All in all, one way or another, these stories, like last year’s list, all ask the same question: How do we do this thing called humanity, and can we do it any better than this?
Enjoy.
1. I Smoked Weed with Willie Nelson and Talked About the Future of America
When the IRS auctioned off some of your possessions that they’d seized, your fans showed up, bought all your stuff, and then unlike most fans they gave it all back to you. How did that moment feel for you?
Well, you know, there have been a lot of moments when I felt like the richest guy in the world. That was definitely one of them.
Sure some of those fans weren’t necessarily well-off; they were likely making sacrifices, spending money that was needed in their own lives, but they wanted to give it to the iRS for you.
Absolutely. (He grows quiet, seemingly humbled at the memory) It’s nice to know there’s still good people out there who want to take care of you and themselves and each other. And that we’re all concerned about each other. It’s back to the old adage: Treat other people how you want to be treated.
I spoke with a lot of your fans before the show; nearly everyone of them mentioned the generosity of your spirit. How do you stay sensitive and open in a world that can be so brutal?
Well, really it’s a selfish thing. I feel good doing it.
Read more here:
2. Nikola Tesla and the Conspiracy Against Water-Powered Cars
The case for a water-powered car is about power, both electrical and socio-political. Devotees of Nikola Tesla think our physics books need to be rewritten. Modern accepted science and Tesla parted ways after Einstein’s Theory of Relativity re-shaped how we imagine the universe that surrounds and exists inside of us. Gone was Tesla’s idea of an ether of energy. Tesla described electricity as a feature of a pervasive field of energy — all part of a vibrating universe, that manifested as a coordinated dance of frequencies. To Tesla, the universe and everything in it could be understood as vibrations.
In the post-Einstein world, Tesla’s alternative theory of energy is now considered scientific heresy. Only the true believers still hold their faith in Tesla’s view of the universe. However, following his methods, these garage tinkerers and shade tree physicists seem to work electrical miracles. And they claim this is the real reason why the government won’t let them build water-powered cars. It’s all part of a century-long fight that goes back to Tesla and his former boss, Thomas Edison. Genius versus Industry. And now, a century later, these true believers and electrical outlaws argue that rather than follow the lead of the electric car company named for their hero, we need to make everyone understand how a water-powered car works, and redesign our modern industry according to Tesla’s alternative theory of energy. Imagine everything you know about electricity is wrong. Now ask yourself: why would anyone want to suppress this truth? Who benefits?
Read more here (also there’s an audio track, so you can listen to it like a podcast):
3. A Gentleman’s Guide To Sexual Misconduct…and Enthusiastic Consent
I was born in Georgia. And was baptized in a church across the street from the Martin Luther King Jr memorial. Playing around his eternal flame features in some of my earliest memories. But we left Dixie when I was a boy. By the time I got The Talk about white girls, my mother had relocated us to California. Yet, even out on the sunny west coast, she still feared that her son’s life could be snatched away, not by racist violence, instead, she worried that my life would be taken and then deposited behind bars. Again, to be clear, her fear of false allegations isn’t in line with the social values of our times — but, in retrospect, her fears make sense. Of course, she’d want to protect her son. Love is irrational. And not always woke.
Based on my mother’s fear of white women and girls, I extrapolated a very valuable but unintended lesson:
A man must seek a woman’s enthusiastic consent. Always.
Enthusiastic consent. This is not coaxed. This is not persuaded. This is not won-over. This is given, heartily, lustily, and with great expectation of pleasure. Enthusiastic consent is sexy AF.
Read more here (also there’s an audio track, so you can listen to it like a podcast):
4. If You Act Right, You Won’t Have a Problem: The Dirty Lie of Respectability Politics
Whether we examine the trial of Jeronimo Yanez, the cop who shot and killed Philando Castile, or consider Bill Cosby’s rape trial, or analyze President Trump’s full-throated defense of white supremacists in the court of public opinion, you’ll find this same thread. It connects these stories like a string of pearls — that is, if the pearls were tiny baubles of domination and shame. Pearls work doubly well as a metaphor here; they’re intended to make you look respectable. And ultimately, that’s what these stories have in common: respectability politics.
These news stories reveal, explicitly, how respectability politics gets leveraged as a psychological weapon: It’s used to excuse violence and shift blame onto victims. Respectability politics is as American as Taylor Swift singing, “Look what you made me do.”
Think of respectability politics as the soft power of domination. It’s reasonable. It’s coercive. It convinces you to police yourself. It offers a broken promise: If you act right, you won’t get hurt.
The most extraordinary thing about violence is how often it occurs on an ordinary day. This is why victims so rarely see it coming, and why they don’t dress for the occasion. Like, let’s be real, how often are you prepared to defend your right to exist, knowing the world will scrutinize your outfit, and your every word and action, as it tries to prove whether you deserved to be assaulted, or not? That’s respectability politics. What did you do wrong?
The calm logic of respectability politics puts forth an insidious idea that you’re safe — we’re all safe — from violence, as long as we follow the rules. Why don’t you just act right? The better questions to ask: Who decides what’s respectable? Who decides what’s right? And what if it’s a racist system that’s demanding your respect? A sexist system?
Read more here:
5. White Night: An American Ghost Story
Dear Grandson,
Thank you for your letter. Each time the mail arrives and I see your handwriting on the outside of an envelope I feel this surge of joy. But it’s so much more than that. I hope one day you will know what I mean. I very much enjoyed your update. And yes, brothers can be like that. Mine certainly were.
To answer your question, it didn’t take me long to think of mine, but it may take me a little bit to explain it. You asked for your class project what’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. I may be old but that’s easy. There ain’t no comparison. It has to be the time when the ghosts of slain black people came back to haunt the living shit out of white folks. That’s the damnedest thing I ever did see.
When I was your age, I always wondered if there was a God. I don’t wonder that now. Not after what I seen. Both the good and the bad. It’s the only way to explain it. Someone must be getting their kicks from this show. Someone or something must be getting a laugh watching it all. Maybe not a laugh. But something like that. It’s all too damn weird otherwise. How else do you explain centuries of undead negroes coming back from the great beyond?
Read the rest here:
6. A Man Walks into a Bar and Takes a Selfie: Why men should take pictures of themselves
A selfie is never just a selfie. And here’s the real deal: All men need to take more selfies. Yes, they need to. As in it would be damn good for them. A selfie isn’t just some microaggressive act of vanity. Nor is it some stupid self-centered millennial hobby. A selfie is the latest in a long line of attempts at self-portrait, a long history that includes Van Gogh’s bandaged ear. (Yes, I just put selfies on the same level as Van Gogh’s masterworks. Deal with it.) So, let me state it plain: Men need to take more selfies. We need to be more like Van Gogh. Capture our emotions. Let’s face it: Most men are shit at dealing with, or even being fully aware of, their emotions. Selfies can help fix that.
You may be thinking, “Yo, my dude, with all the problems in this world, you think men taking more selfies is a vital issue?” And I say, yes. It fucking is. What’s one of the most dire problems facing the world? Men’s roiling, unresolved emotions. In America, we have the toxic neon-tangerine Donald Trump working out his personal emotional dynamics everywhere from Twitter to the world stage. And then there’s Vladimir Putin: a man’s man to the point of parody, but also a man hell-bent on seeking vengeance for the collapse of the Soviet Union — a trauma he apparently perceives to be personal. These world leaders allow their emotional tumult to play out on across the globe, wreaking havoc on millions — if not billions — of people in the process.
Obviously, men need emotional outlets beyond bombing Syria.
Read more here:
7. Hey, Black America, Let’s All Ditch Our Slave Names
I got this idea from the filmmaker Ava DuVernay. Not directly. She didn’t tell me this. In fact, she’s never said anything like this (as far as I know). Yet, in that funny way the world works I got the idea from her. Well, Ava and Game of Thrones. In the hours just before the premiere of the 7th season she tweeted out what her GoT name and house and sigil and house motto would be if she were on the show. She asked her followers to share what their names and houses would be. Normally, I don’t play along much on Twitter, but I love Game of Thrones and Ava, so I did. When I typed the first words of the tweet I couldn’t get past “I am Zaron of House Burnett…” I paused.
A century-and-a-half after the end of slavery and I’m still identifying with the name of the slave-owner who once owned my family. That’s my house. Their house. That sucks. That’s a bone deep pain, one hidden and held in the letters of my last name. And after I posted my response tweet to Ava, that pain of slavery got me thinking of one question.
What if Black Americans ditched our slaves names? What if we cut that psychic chain that binds us to slavery in name and deed?
Read the rest here:
8. Why Is Syria Hell on Earth? Here’s the Ugly but True Answer…
When the world learned that the Syrian government — under orders from President Bashar al-Assad — had (allegedly) dropped bombs of sarin gas on its own people, the news reports defied easy understanding. How could any leader do that to his own people? But if you know the story of Syria, this atrocity is sadly quite predictable. It follows a historic pattern.
To understand why Bashar al-Assad exterminates his own people, you must understand how Bashar values the people of Syria. His people. But before they were his people, they belonged to someone else. To understand the son, one must know the father. The story of the Syrian conflict — a tale of staggering losses of human life, death on a scale that avoids comprehension — is a war story that’s not easy to tell. There’s the factions. The history. The layers of conflict. But, if you wish to answer the question: Why is Syria hell on Earth — why have 320,000 innocent human beings been murdered — to answer why such atrocities occur despite history’s warnings, to get at this story properly, one must start with the father of Basil, and Bashar, and the republic of Syria.
His name is: Hafez al-Assad.
Read more here:
9. How To Read A Love Letter To A Blind Girl
Day-dreaming about how she might meet the love of her life, each sister imagined the sort of dress she would buy, and how it would become an inseparable part of her memory of that night in the winery when she first danced with the man she’d waited so long to meet. It was a honey-sweet fantasy. One suitable for a warm day in May.
The day was sunbaked, yet not searing hot like the ones they expected to suffer through when July arrived. It was warm enough they drove with the windows down. The breeze of the car’s motion almost made up for the lack of air conditioning. On either side of the freeway, the valley was yellowing as the green hills gave up more of their color with each passing day. The last rain was two weeks ago. Now the grasses faded fast. Soon they would be golden, as they were in songs about California.
When the invitations arrived both sisters asked their father for money to buy dresses. Raising rabbits didn’t afford him much opportunity to spoil his daughters. He could barely afford to send them each to junior college. He secretly hoped they’d earn scholarships so they could finish at a university but he never mentioned this to them. He took what he’d saved for the new rabbit cages and handed them each half to spend. He knew his daughters wouldn’t receive many invites to the opening gala of a Napa winery. And he feared they wouldn’t have many opportunities to meet the young men who attended such an event. His new rabbits pens could wait. He felt his daughters could not.
Big Bill liked to think his wife, dead now for nearly ten years, would insist the girls get to buy new dresses. It made his decision all the more easy. She may be gone and buried but he still wanted her to be happy with him. And he could hear her voice in his mind as if she were there with him in the kitchen.
Sending his daughters to the city in the old Chevy made him nervous. He made them promise they would buy dresses and be back before sundown when the eastbound traffic would fill the freeway with weekend drivers headed for Tahoe and Reno. Both girls promised they would be back before nightfall.
Read the short story here (also there’s an audio track, so you can listen to it like an audiobook, good for road trips):
Alright. Lookin’ forward to dippin’ into 2018.
No, that’s a joke. Based on the last couple years…who the hell would do that?
But I am lookin’ forward to bring y’all new stories about this thing we call life.
