Actrivism, Part Six: Journalism's slow decay through the eyes of an Actrivist who walked miles in their shoes.

I

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II

While the New York Times boasts of increasing subscriptions, other smaller newspapers are having yet another round of job cuts.

What is happening in the world of newspapers is what happened to my grandmother after she became immobilized after the paramedics dropped her.

Because she couldn’t move and was confined to bed, her body slowly started to break down.

Mom and I pretty much spent 24/7 moving her from side to side with pillows to prevent bed sores and to keep her system going, every fifteen minutes. Mom slept on a sofa in grandma’s room. Technically, there are beds that move you automatically, but they do not work like they should in theory. When grandma landed in ICU and was on such a bed, she got bed sores, and it took us quite a bit to heal them.

You absolutely have to keep active or your body stops functioning.

The arteries start dying, but not right away. The smaller ones start to atrophy first, and it puts more pressure on the big ones to function.

But eventually, everything shuts down.

And the person expires.

I witnessed this up close with someone I knew since the day I was born.

But I recognized a lot of what I witnessed with her with something I witnessed exploring journalism.

Smaller properties atrophying slowly before starting to cannibalize the big ones. Overall numbers continue to drop. That’s reality, and it has been for the last couple of decades.

III

The insanity of the journalistic groupthink is mystifying. You go to the doctor who tells you that you have cancer, but with surgery, chemo, and radical lifestyle changes, you’ll be healthy again, and she even shows you your tests results, x-rays, ultrasound, scans, blood tests, everything. You have all of the signs and symptoms. The doctor even goes so far as to encourage you to get a second, third, and fourth opinion, and runs all of the tests, and it all comes back the same. There is no debate that you are in danger.

What would you do?

(A) Go for treatment ASAP, change your lifestyle, and resume your life.

(B) Deny that you are sick, say all those tests results prove that you are healthy as you were in your youth, attack anyone who says you are sick, and go about the same way you did before.

Journalists opted for B.

You may have been young, healthy and strong, swaggering around, bossing and bullying kids on the playground, and come off the victor of bar brawl after bar brawl, but now you are sick.

Denying your weakness isn’t going to turn your fortunes around.

That’s at the heart of the profession’s collapse.

I could see that because I went in to study it. It is the difference between joining a cult because you believe their twaddle, and going in to study it because you see the twaddle for what it is.

Yet you still do the same things, but finding out why this cult believes in what it does — how do they talk themselves into believing something clearly not aligned with reality.

Where did it go so horribly wrong?

And what are the excuses this cult is using to keep reality away from them?

I saw the decay up close. I also walked miles and miles in their shoes. I was a journalist, but I wasn’t a member of the cult. That’s how Method Research works.

And even though I was a journalist, I was also an Actrivist. I questioned myself, and my motives: why did I interview someone a certain way? Why did I pitch this article? Why did I use this source before another one?

That’s how you see the flaws and how you improve the methods.

That’s what you are supposed to do: not statically cling on to an old rule and think that the world evolves and changes, but you got a Get Out Of Reality Free Card.

Hell, no.

Being an Actrivist means being flexible and always refining and evolving. It is woven into the mandate and definition. Activist/Actress.

You act.

You keep moving, stopping to reflect and refine, but then you keep moving again.

So that you are not left behind, but chasing out in front.

You are future-focussed.

You see all around you as you keep moving, walking in another’s shoes in order to understand their place in the evolving world.’

So that you don’t start to rot and lose your lifelines one by one.

Because I have seen that up close.

And no one should ever have to go through that.

But when a profession willingly chooses it, is appalling.

My grandmother didn’t choose it. It was imposed upon her by careless hands.

Journalism has no excuse for it, but they thinking up news one every day as they rot in place…

Is Robert Mueller free for a gig in Ottawa? Asking for a friend...

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II

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III

Those sunny ways just got a cold blast of wind. So much for “rule of law.”

It seems like lawyers are a little upset about the rumours that the Prime Minister may have overstepped his authority regarding the illegal deeds of SNC-Lavalin, and stuck his meddlesome nose where it didn’t belong and demoted a capable minister because she has a moral compass.

Maybe if the Grits had a bigger goodie bag to save those tanking newspapers, they may have looked the other way. Maybe not.

In either case, this is not a minor accusation, and when a big pile of manure like this hits the fan, then all the other little scandals start to look more ominous.

Justin Trudeau is not someone who is used to earning his keep or not having good publicity that drools over him. His regime’s treatment of First Nations citizens is shockingly vile, and the list of sins is horrifically long for such a short tenure, but his despicable demotion of The Honourable Jody Wilson-Raybould may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

This is the kind of accusation you usually hear after a second or even third term in office. That this accusation came this early hints that the Grits up in Ottawa are in total disarray.

Sometimes, bad is bad.

There are more dots now, and they can be connected. Middle class people do not like tainted politicians, especially ones who seem to behave as if they are entitled to help corporate interests in such a brazen manner.

This scandal will make the India farce seem like the good old days.

Paging Robert Mueller…

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And a silly article in MTLblog is downplaying SNC as a “Montreal construction company.” It has offices around the world, and acquired the Crown Corporation Candu, meaning it controls nuclear power. Nice try, children, but your article didn’t tell people everything they needed to know!

The Bezos Brouhaha takes an interesting turn...

Someone is throwing a fit.

Amazon’s overlord bad boy Jeff Bezos went to Medium to cry foul, claiming he is being blackmailed with dirty pics of his affair.

That the National Enquirer plays dirty? Of course, and they play for keeps. This isn’t kindergarten, children. This is war, and the various armies aren’t Middle Class mommies and daddies. You want to be the world’s most powerful and richest man? You’ve made enemies stomping your way to the top. No Corporate Giant got to where he is unless he played the same war games. Stop trying to spin a victim-based narrative.

He is trying to contain the fallout, knowing full-well what is on the line. He is going to have to pay through the nose in the divorce settlement, and golly, owning The Washington Post isn’t beguiling the public. He can even be pushed out, or suffer diminished power. The stakes are high.

You had an affair, and you were careless, Mr. Bezos. You gave the ammo and the gun to them. The consequences are on you. Money cannot always intimidate or impress everyone. You just thought you were too smart and rich to get caught.

Life is hard, even for billionaires.

Somehow, I am just not feeling sorry for a philanderer who is careless in a world with some pretty insecure technology…

Coming soon: A Post-Progressive Murder Mystery in 1913.

It looks like I will be doing this next week. I have been swamped and way behind schedule.

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It also wrecks my order.

So this is Arc One.

I have alluded to this one before.

For all the talk about this being a Woke Generation who is raging against the Man, there is a murder case that has three elements of the same problems that happened over a century ago.

Things happened. Things changed because of it, but the interesting thing was the calls came because of the treatment of the various accused.

The victim and others witnesses at the trial did not get the same woke focus.

And they should have.

I am not going to introduce anything new, but I am going to curate this case from a modern perspective.

The reason? It is about perception and interpretation.

I will be using a couple of modern cases in conjunction with this one to compare and contrast the times and even the facts.

Stay tuned…

Jill Abramson getting pummelled by corrupt hypocrites: Just another day in the trash can called journalism.

For a profession that criticizes people viciously, journalists certainly do not like when people criticize them.

Oh, what a shock.

They either suppress information or try to tear into someone if their profile is high enough.

So when former New York Times editor Jill Abramson dissed on the corrupt and dead profession of journalism, the book couldn’t be ignored; so journalists went to attack her credibility like a rapist attacks the victim, blaming her and saying she deserved it.

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Make no mistake: the level of vitriol has more to do that a woman dared call them out for their sins than the actual content.

Also note, it was the white boys who instigated this very coordinated hit.

So before discussing the guts of the allegations, let me point out that Jill Abramson made it all the way to News York Times editor.

A very lofty position in the profession. That’s as prestigious as you can get. 60 Minutes correspondent or head of a network news outfit possibly trump it.

Back then, she was doing the basic same things she did for her entire journalistic career, and she was employed and got promoted.

And that was just dandy keen for years.

But then she was a cheerleader on Team Journalism.

Now she isn’t.

I wrote a book on journalism’s ethics last year and that book was exhaustively researched.

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I had no assistant. I did the entire researching and writing all by myself up in a cottage in Selkirk right on Lake Erie in the winter in the middle of nowhere because it was always my dream to write a book that way.

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For five months, that is what I woke up to seeing every morning while drinking Turkish coffee. I wanted absolute solitude, but The Fabulous Ladies drove up every Sunday for brunch and mischief, and I am grateful. I did take some time out to go to Chicago to get semi-precious stones for my jewelry-making. I stayed at the fun and posh Virgin Hotel and dined at Miss Ricky’s and The Gage, but still brought my laptop to work on my book. I still have my little shower lamb from the Virgin Hotel

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My book was ignored by journalists in public, though people are still buying it, despite the shut out. So much for free speech. As usual, word of mouth can break through any blacklist.

I still did an interview here and a funky one here.

But journalists couldn’t do that with Abramson. They had to stomp on her and stone her to discredit her work.

You cannot discredit mine, however. I did not go into journalism with stars in my eyes, and then turned into a bitter and disgruntled failure. I went in knowing exactly who they were, and wanted to study the profession by being a journalist for real. I conducted unprecedented and exhaustive experiments. My beat was the business of journalism and my audience were people in the profession.

When I had enough information to write an informed and empirically-sound exposé, I walked away.

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I also wrote one on Fox News, and then over a decade later came When Journalism was a Thing.

Abramson was in deep, and as much as she knows about the people in that sketchy profession, those in the profession know all about her.

So those trolls knew where to look and how to strike.

And then went batshit crazy on her in a frenzy tirade, hoping to nullify her revealing of their disgusting dirt.

They nitpicked on a few facts, but even that is under debate. Journalists fuck up on facts all the time. They do not use empirical methods.

But then came the “chargeofplagiarism! Oh, no! Run for your lives! Don’t listen to the scary woman with the book that exposes us!

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It is a pathetic ruse.

The poseur “journalists” at the garbage publication Paste really overplayed the melodramatics:

Jill Abramson Is a Disgrace to Journalism

Yeah, as if you grifters know what this “journalism” is. You are not fooling anybody, you twits. Stop using the movie Reefer Madness as a guide on how to behave. You come off as disingenuous nerds.

The only publication with any sense here is the National Review that has a more accurate take:

Jill Abramson Is a Hack, Not a Thief

I am currently reading the book. She knows who she is dealing with. It is kind of a stretch to call it “plagiarism” because the writing for both are so banal and unoriginal, that really, it is like writing, “Bob likes his new job” and then someone else writes “Robert has positive feelings toward his most recent career” and then make some over-the-top tirade because you both are writing about the same damn thing.

Seriously, no winners here. I would not classify it as a “sourcing error”, either. I would classify this as typical journalism nincompoopity, and it needs to be replaced with a more responsible alternative.

Vice is pure garbage. Sexist pretentious trolls with one who got nabbed for being a drug dealer, and Vice got Canadian government money to boot. What does Vice know about journalistic ethics?

I wrote about Vice in my latest book. They are to journalism what a soiled jock strap is to journalism.

And they’re ranting about Abramson?

And other outlets are parroting their meltdown?

I can tell you straight up my book is exhaustively researched, and I didn’t plagiarize. I don’t need to because my writing is superior to Vice hacks or anyone else in that dead profession. It would be a serious step down from my own abilities.

So yes, the pot is calling the kettle black, but who is the pot and who is the kettle is your choice.

If you want to read a book that tells it like it is that doesn’t pull any punches and fears no angry mob of hacks, read When Journalism was a Thing.

You can even read while enjoying a cup of Turkish coffee — because you haven’t lived until you had a cup…

Oh dear...

The federal Grits put pressure on their justice minister to appease corrupt corporate interests before demoting her for rebuffing it?

You don’t say!

And the standard issue regime denials. Parsing their words very carefully.

Oh, of course. All that smirking through the prime ministership is a clear sign of an honest and moral leader.

I did find this interesting:

After a request from The Globe, Ms. Wilson-Raybould was unwilling to discuss the political pressure she endured aimed at persuading her to arrange a remediation agreement for SNC-Lavalin.

“That is between me and the government as the government’s previous lawyer,” she said in an interview.

Asked if she had been approached to direct the Public Prosecution Service to negotiate a remediation agreement, Ms. Wilson Raybould said: “I don’t have a comment on that.”

The Globe also asked whether she had refused such a request. “I cannot comment on that. That is legal advice between me and the government at the time.”

No actual denial. Lots of hints elsewhere, however.

Gracious, what a tintinnabulation.

This is going to be one very ugly election in Canada. You could tell when the Jive Turkey keeps trying to draw deflecting lines in the sand, telling people not to look at Canada’s global snafus and trying to say this should be a “positive” campaign.

And this isn’t even a full first term of this dreadful regime.

Perhaps when Robert Mueller is done with his probe in the Beltway, he can come on over and look at what the regime over here is doing…

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We don't need politics. We need empathy, respect, and compassion. You know, the things that count.

I

His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naïvest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to me to be such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it.

“You appear to be astonished,” he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. “Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it.”

“To forget it!”

“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”

“But the Solar System!” I protested.

“What the deuce is it to me?” he interrupted impatiently: “you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.”

—Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson in A Study in Scarlet.

II

I am not pretentious, but I am not stupid. I know details, and get nuances and catch on to Shibboleths. I don’t shop in Manhattan, but Secaucus, New Jersey where there are those fabulous outlet malls, for instance. I have ever since I was a teenager. I prefer the complexities of Bénédictine over most other liqueurs. Armani for the wife, Versace for the mistress, but Moschino for Alexandra.

I am not some yokel. If I don’t know something, don’t assume I wanted to know it. I heard it, determined it to not be all that, and promptly forgot it.

Such as whatever script someone spews at me. Brag all you want. In one ear, out the other.

What interests me is human motivation and strategies. Who are you as a person matters, not some bullshit story you are telling me to impress me or make me jealous.

Because I am not obsessed with keeping up with the Joneses, people think that I am going to be impressed and feel inadequate. Don’t be silly. What Alexandra wants, she gets, one way or another.

And Alexandra gets what she wants and needs all by herself.

I am choosy and I am fussy.

I love to learn. I just signed up for this Oxford short course. I love to write books, and that’s what I am doing.

I don’t have to take the course, but I like to expand certain areas of my mind, and bring them up to code.

I have three more pieces of unfinished business. Right before January, it was a dozen. None were minor.

After those are taken care of, it is the next level upwards and forwards.

But I never forget my roots.

I don’t look down on people who didn’t have the same opportunities. I respect and admire them greatly, and not in some precious, condescending way. People survived wars, slavery, incest, abuse, terrorism, illness, poverty, and victimization. They didn’t “bring it on” themselves. I am genuinely outraged that my country treats First Nations people like they were disposable, for instance, while we have grifters who live it up on the taxpayer dime.

The US Democrats act like the Catholic church — they talk a good talk about liberties, preach to tell you that you are inferior and need them to guide you, use Doomsday scenarios with their environmental policy, and yet keep begging for donations as they ride around in limos.

And like the church they emulate, they are the ones who get caught doing really infuriating things that prove they are hypocrites, making the New York Post very giddy.

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What is with this whole blackface thing, anyway? I mean, it happened in my junior high during class, and even then as a tween in the 1980s, I thought it was downright racist.

I can believe in forgiveness as a general concept, but it isn’t my place to forgive. I’m a white Canadian. I take my cue from the people who were wronged.

I remember The New York Times having this priggish Op-Ed piece when Megyn Kelly said kids did it in her time, and the opinionist got all snooty, claiming it wasn’t happening in his time and he was a couple of years older than Kelly.

Bullshit.

It happens now, but as we know, it happened then, too. I smell pants roasting.

So here is one group of people who branded themselves as a morally superior party having a cemetery of skeletons jumping out of their closets proving that it really doesn’t matter who you vote for — they aren’t authentic. The labels of these political sects is just a front for conniver who wants to wear a paper crown and will tell you whatever you want to hear.

III

Canada has the same problem right now. The federal Liberals are equally troublesome. While Postmedia owns both the Toronto Sun and the National Post, getting to play both sides of things, I found this National Post column interesting:

The other jab in this combination of punches is their regular mentions of Justin Trudeau’s “family fortune” — a phrase the prime minister himself used inadvisedly in a press conference.

“That amount ($5,000) is peanuts for a prime minister who inherited a great family fortune,” said Conservative Rosemarie Falk, by way of example.

…But there is good reason why the Conservatives are adopting such deceptive tactics: they are working.

What deception? That the Prime Minister has no empathy or ability to adjust his perspective? His policies are not for the poor. They aren’t good for the Middle Class. They cater exclusively to limousine liberals: people with money who do not want to be inconvenienced economically nor personally.

And then Trudeau opens his mouth and proves it, as the Toronto Sun gleefully pointed out:

“We see proof that the conservatives simply don’t understand that low income families don’t benefit from tax breaks because they don’t pay taxes,” said Justin Trudeau.

It is Trudeau who doesn’t even know the basic reality of his own poor. Poor people do have to pay income tax even if they make less than $12,000 a year.

They also pay HST on goods and services. There is no tax exemption when you buy basics.

The left-leaning press kept their mouths shut on this one, as usual, hoping not to draw attention and censoring unflattering nincompoopity from the Jive Turkey because they know if the Tories win, there is no goodie fund for them.

What you have is a prime minister completely incapable of genuine compassion and empathy:

“While we continue to stay focused on Canadians, Conservatives continue to stay focused on how I grew up,” Trudeau shot back.

Yes, because you never grew up. The Grits focus on themselves, no one else. When you keep the poorest at arm’s length, you have no idea who they are, what they need, or how they came to be poor.

Method Research would go a long way to understanding what needs to be done.

For one, I would force any candidate running for prime minister to be forced to live for two years among the poorest of his or her nation with no help. All funds would be cut off, and they would be monitored.

You are going to live in a shitty little shack. You are going to have to get a joe job. You are going to have to pay the bills with whatever you earn.

Two years.

No limos. No colorful culturally-appropriate costumes. No designer clothing or children’s socks.

And, for giggles, you’d be sent up to the remote location where everything is more expensive.

Then you would be grow up, put on your big boy pants, and have a fresh perspective.

It would be good if everyone was healthy, happy, and prosperous.

This isn’t reality.

And ignoring it isn’t actually working for the Left. People aren’t blind or numb to their own whispering problems.

With Trudeau, it is shallow gestures and empathy phrases with no core to it, He apologizes for other people’s actions of the past, thinking that means something.

Not if those injustices are still alive and well in the present and you don’t see them.

Anyone with drama training can shed a few crocodile tears. So can people clocked for speeding and bawl to the nice police officer not to give them a ticket.

Kids in toy stores can do it, too.

That doesn’t prove you have empathy, respect, or compassion.

I am still haunted by my grandmother’s agonizing death. She chose to live because she didn’t want to be away from her family. To her, she did not want to abandon us and sacrificed everything to look out for us. She worried about how much sleep I got and agonized about my derailed career. She gave me pep talks and advice as she lay dying.

I looked after her 24/7. I had been so focussed on her that I abandoned myself in the bargain. My mother did the same.

And then my mother was diagnosed with cancer and then I was, too a few short weeks later.

We looked after each other. I had to trudge in the snow to walk a long way to the hospital to see my mother after her surgery three weeks after have surgery to remove my left ovary.

They gutted me. My stomach muscle was split in two. I was oozing and in absolute agony. I didn’t take the morphine I was given. I didn’t even pick it up because I could not be under any influence because I had to drive and look after my mother.

And I can barely walk, but I make the trip twice a day to the hospital where my mother lost a lot of blood and had a hard time keeping awake because of it. I had to look after her as I am terrified that my cancer has spread.

But I march to the hospital every day like a soldier. I would go to Fortinos to buy my mother something with flavour to eat as I also would bring her coffee, and try to cheer her up, and I can barely sit in the hospital chair, still in shock that asymptomatic me had motherfucking ovarian cancer.

And then she comes home, and a few weeks later, she has to have another surgery because she had something so rare that the doctor who had to operate never seen it before.

It is a never-ending siege of trauma.

And I know there are people who not only had it as bad, they have it even worse.

They have children with incurable degenerative conditions.

I have a bracelet a student made for me in jewelry summer camp that I taught one year. She was the sweetest, cutest, kindest little girl who took the class so she could make things to raise money for the fatal disease she has.

But she gave me a present because even though she is ill, she wants me to know that she likes me.

And it moves me. If I had the power, I would make her problems disappear.

But I don’t, and it bothers me.

I have known people who are going through extraordinary lengths for their terminally ill children, fighting a brawl with the heavens to extract every extra second at the expense of everything.

And we have a deluded prime minister who has his panties in a knot because his rivals have his number and keep dialling it.

We have never had a prime minister — on the left or right, who put children first.

And no, photo ops of you reading to them doesn’t count. Fuck you.

Neither is giving people money per child — it encourages the wrong kind of people to keep having them for the free money. I used to sit in the solarium and watch outside my old house on Main Street East in Hamilton and see Stroller Row.

We have children in battered women’s shelters. We have children who are sex slaves being passed around and videotaped.

The Grits give money to newspapers who fucked up their own worthless profession — but completely ignore children’s services.

This is vile and disgusting.

I like my art. I like my surrealist paintings, my books, my theremin, my Kintsugi, my Alexander Katsulin pottery, Turkish coffee, and antique furniture.

I like Sherlock Holmes, Han Hoogerbrugge, the Hives, and the Blue Beetle.

I am self-indulgent and eccentric, and if you don’t like it, go fuck yourself.

You aren’t paying my bills. You don’t care that I had cancer. Go to hell. I don’t have respect for your negging.

Because it is all meaningless if you don’t have a moral compass.

And politics isn’t the place you’ll ever find it.

Neither is this neo-Victorian façade. It’s not genuine.

A kinder world comes from empathy and compassion.

That requires vulnerability and connect, not cheap acting stunts and empty words…

The Guardian is a sheltered newspaper...

This paragraph in The Guardian is the epitome of outrage:

An 11-year-old boy called Joshua Trump who was invited by his presidential namesake to his State of the Union speech fell asleep and has been hailed as a hero of the anti-Trump resistance.

If that is a resistance to you, you truly have lived in a bubble your entire existence.

What this is are a bunch of sore losers.

No of these “resistance” folk got off their duffs, and put their lives on the line to help others for freedom or democracy.

They bitch on the Troll Scroll. Whoop-di-fucking-do.

Serbs, on the other hand, resisted Nazis in the Second World War.

They fought against the “bad guys” in the First World War, too, losing one third of their population.

How many “Trump resistors” lost theirs to the cause?

Stop trivializing valiant concepts to give to spoiled slackers, because you’re just coming off as a cabal of oblivious assholes…

Actrivism, Part Five: A long and complicated journey into Mindwild.

I

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III

I was extremely fortunate that I was photographed by Villiam Hrubovcak and the picture is one of several from that photoshoot. He has shot everyone from Bjork, Elvis Costello, Billy Idol, to John Waters, and if I recall correctly, Ollie North.

I have this one he shot of me hanging in my living room.

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It is still my favourite photograph of me.

Because I usually do not pose that way. I like my face in front, but he suggested it to show off my distinctive nose; so I did, never thinking that would have been the photograph I would have selected after. I like to break my own rules, decrees, truisms, routines, and theories, but in this case, someone made the suggestion.

I do take advise. I do take chances.

Because I am not afraid to question things or people, including myself.

I test my own theories, but every once in a while, someone shows you a place where you didn’t think of testing your own rules.

But when you are intellectually uninhibited, you can question everything and eventually figure out that’s how you find the facts of reality to find the truth.

IV

Percentage-wise, Twitter brings me very little traffic to this site. I can easily deactivate my account, and my numbers would remain untouched. I have a modest, but steadily-increasing international base here, if I believe what the analytics are saying to me.

Wordpress wasn’t as accurate, and there were strange things happening. For long stretches, it would claim I had no traffic from Google searches, which I did not believe, and tested it myself on my other devices, and lo and behold, those didn’t register, either. Nice try. I cannot say the same for my current host Squarespace. So far, I am very happy with them. They are helpful, prompt, thorough, and I have never been left frustrated or have something I could not figure out on my own unresolved. I wish I came aboard sooner.

But I cannot say the same for Twitter. Is there shadow-banning of me? I don’t know why there would be, but it wouldn’t surprise me, either.

I have been on Twitter for years, and I have been hover at 1790 followers for as long as I can remember, according to them, which is low. I am also on Ello, a smaller social media site, and though I have not been there as long and don’t post as often, my followers have increased steadily to over 3600, more than double what the Twit nets me.

And I do not make the first move to gain followers. People come to me first. So that’s quite a difference where the pool in one site is far greater than the other. By mere chance alone, I should have more than double on Twitter than I do on Ello.

Maybe the difference is that I don’t trust Twitter. There is no proof that any organized groundswell of reaction is organic, spontaneous, or genuine, and I doubt that it is any of the above. It is way too easy to game the system. It has become social propaganda for various advertisers and political groups that is intermingled with naive people who are followers by design, and believe everything they see on the Troll Scroll.

There is no respect for people. They don’t call it Twitter for nothing.

And there is nothing more deceptive than that Blue Checkmark. It does not signal what is being said is true. It does guarantee that the person writing that tweet is actually there person, it could and most likely is an assistant or PR firm.

Nor does it guarantee that the person isn’t being paid by an outside party to shill.

It doesn’t have any safeguards. The same can be said of Wikipedia, and I do not see it as a credible source of information, either.

And often who gets the blue checkmark mystifies me. They aren’t actually well-known. You can do a basic search on them and virtually come up empty-handed. They are not always people of note, let alone “social influencers.”

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Google has my verified profile, however.

My Twitter profile is there, even though I am an author of several books and do not have the little blue checkmark. I didn’t put my Twitter account there. People do look me up by name because Google’s own analytics let me know.

So across various platforms, there is a real inconsistency. Google has me verified, and directs people to my Twitter feed, yet Twitter will not give me the verified status, even though I worked as a journalist, and have several books under my belt. I had one late last year, and one coming out next year.

By all accounts, that should be more than enough, especially considering how low the bar is.

But it is hard to justify lobbying for something that I know is rigged and filled with propaganda spewed from behind a curtain.

It is more than fake news. It is fake followers. It is just fake.

It is not an informational portal. It is an advertising vehicle to push ideologies just as Facebook is amateur press release.

And whenever you challenge something on that platform, the vipers come out to intimidate with insults.

Don’t give me lip.

Give me proof.

But when you cannot verify who is writing the tweet is who they say they are, nor whether or not they are being paid to say it, you won’t find any proof there at all.

V

Twitter wasn’t build to prove. It was built to bully. It was built to foster groupthink. It was made to prime, groom, and deliver audiences with the right mindset to build clusters of thought.

The word count is too low for anything rational to transpire. At least Facebook talks about connections as “friends” and LinkedIn uses the word “connection.” Twitter was the one who used the trigger word “follower.”

It is brazen enough. They might as well use a pigeon over the Mountain Bluebird they have as their logo.

But it gives the illusion of control and genuine interaction. You think you know what you see, and that is its strength. You don’t know what’s on the other side of that missive or the motive for it being there.

It makes it a prime breeding ground for manipulation.

But it also weakens and devalues words and opinion. There is too much clutter.

Because everything is virtual, the impact is not as great as it appears. The turnover is fast for anything to take root and grow. People let off steam with slacktivism. People try to one-up others. There is petty rivalry, but few real tangible results that hit their targets.

For example, #MeToo. It seemed as if it did its job, but what did the faceless movement actually net?

It took down a lot of men on the Left because they could not live up to the book of rules. They were done in by a misfiring of Alinksy’s Gun.

But that’s not who that gun was meant to shoot: it was men on the Right who were supposed to crumble and fall.

Brent Kavanaugh was supposed to have fallen. While the damsels-in-distress marched in their cosplay red robes, he ultimately got issued a Supreme Court black robe.

Twitter is not a precise weapon. So far, Donald Trump seems to have known how to use it.

Digital media doesn’t know how to use it. They crashed. Traditional media also was clueless and collapsed.

For a social media site that is all about communications, it doesn’t actually work the way people think it does.

Just one septuagenarian. This quadragenarian has no use for it.

Because Twitter is like a bad psychic: you can see the rigs a mile away.

It’s that transparent.

And the motives for people’s continued gullibility when using it.

It doesn’t interest me.

I prefer a more instructive challenge.

Which brings me to Mindwild.

VI

I always thrived with a challenge. I like puzzles. I like when things are not obvious to me.

I when I can challenge my own rules, turn them over, see them break, and then find the atom of truth.

Knowledge is flexible, not static. It evolves, changes, and grows, and why I like to revisit past knowledge and update what I know.

So when I decided to go into journalism to study it, I had to think about a lot of things very carefully.

I had to define what I was doing, and if I didn’t reach certain milestones, or things didn’t go to plan, I needed plans and counter-plans.

I called it Method Research. I was taking my laboratory into the real world. It was like a scientist placing herself into an atom to study it.

My job? Being an actrivist — being actively inside the world I was studying.

These terms were my shorthand to remind me what I was doing. It is very easy to get lost in the moment and forget what to do. It’s like sparring with someone in the boxing ring and then forgetting to keep your guard up.

And what about the experiments I was conducting?

I dubbed those Mindwild. The point was not to think I was confined. I was out in the wild. I was part cavewoman fighting for survival naturally, and part android, carefully analyzing the natural elements to process information empirically.

And my experiments had to reflect these two extremes, bringing them to the radical centre: don’t take sides. Take notes. Take facts.

That meant my experiments could be as wild as I come up, but my analysis had to be as disciplined as they could be. Chaos and order at the same time.

I was methodical but took advantage of any opportunity presented to me.

It was all about taking snapshots of reality, all while remembering who I was and what I was doing. It is not as if there was a roadmap.

I was the cartographer, and I wasn’t just mapping out the profession, but who I was in it because as much as I was an experimenter, I was also the test subject.

And I learn a lot about journalism, myself, how to conduct experiments, and also the nature of truth, reality, perception, and interpretation.

For example, I learned how we define out terms confines the outcomes of what we reap from its definition. The more ill-defined it is, the less we get out of it.

And journalism is a profession with no desire to define any of its terms.

How do you define “fact-check”, for instance? It is doublespeak and a nonsense word that is suppose to give false reassurance to the believers and shut down and psych out detractors.

How can you even have an imprecise and folksy term for something that dictates specialization and precision?

It’s a scam. Worse, it is a patronizing scam.

It’s no different than saying someone is a doctor: what kind of doctor? What is their area of expertise? An oncologist or internist? And even then, they have their specialized area.

Or lawyer. What kind of lawyer? Criminal? Divorce? Real Estate? Corporate?

So the word “fact-check” is pure bullshit.

It’s just an arrogant bunch who use the word to snow people who don’t know the industry.

But that doesn’t work on people who know because they worked in the business, never falling for its alleged prestige and bragging rights.

While society moves towards AI and conducting research with cold arbitrary logic, they are losing the wild part of the equation.

The part the develops instincts. You can teach someone to box with a textbook, but put them in the ring, and they will lose to the person who had to fight in real life for their survival without a trainer.

But, have someone fight in the real world for their survival as they have a trainer and a textbook and war manual, and they understand the theory and the practice.

That’s what I called Mindwild.

I didn’t just use it working as a journalist. I still use it to this day. I can look at something, and see the rigid thinking and assumptions its structure and content is based on.

And it can do a lot to your thinking.

I became a political atheist.

I believe in peace. I believe in progress. Neither can be found using an antiquated model of governance or journalism.

I also became a radical feminist, but not in the traditional sloppy definition of it.

But that means that (a) you do not expect an Establishment will change because you shamed them, and (b) you have to have active strategies to building new systems and not rely on old patriarchal models.

Most importantly, I learned as much about myself as I did about the world around me.

The world chose to stagnate and to old on to toxic security blankets.

I chose to flourish and grow without worrying about myself because I know who I am.

Someone who doesn’t worry about memorizing a script.

Because I don’t hide behind a script, I have allowed myself to mature and blossom, and I know who I am.

And it’s not any established role someone else has rigged up to keep people from succeeding.

I have learned to challenge the rules of anarchy and enigmas because I become both, and broke more barriers because I knew that even anarchy masks something beyond it.

And that means there are new frontiers we haven’t even seen yet.

The world is never a bore — there is always some new thrilling truth to learn, and yet people still cling on to the same old boring lies.

The world is beautiful. The future is exciting.

But you’ll never know it until you explore it, study it, nurture it, love it, listen to it, and unleash yourself in it.

That’s Method Research.

That’s Actrivism.

And that’s Mindwild.

Every atom is an omniverse of excitement and thrills just ready to be unleashed itself.

If only you are brave enough, loving enough, and truth enough to open it…

Why did US female politicians wear white to the State of the Union? Obviously, they were part of a polygamous sect as their Husband-in-Chief got the spotlight. Faux feminists strike again.

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Don’t you just love a mindless cult where women all have to dress alike and rely on cheap and empty symbolism because they have no power or substance?

I know I sure don’t.

This is cosplay for people who don’t have an original idea, but want attention without having any accomplishments to earn it.

It looks like a polygamous cult of unoriginal dressers as they shrewishly stew that their big shot husband gets to talk and be in charge.

Hollywood actresses wore black to the Golden Globes during the beginning of #MeToo.

Copycats.

No better than the aimless protestors all wearing red cosplay.

All we need is some women to prance and vogue with stink face in a group wearing yellow outfits, and American women have summoned the Apocalypse upon themselves to be devoured by reality. Well played.

How about all going as a dancing banana?

Women choosing their outfits in reaction to a man is as un-feminist as one can get.

You are telling the world you are a follower, like a good little woman. You are interchangeable, faceless, and disposable. Individuality, independence, and originality, please.

And no feminist would go along with that farce. Ever. It is the reason why we needed feminism in the first play — to break away from shackles and prisons of uniformity.

You wear what you want, when you want, how you want, where you want, and why you want it. Not what the high school know-it-alls decree as they’re smoking pot in the girl’s room.

You are just confirming that you are nothing but surrounded stones in a game of Go.

And the Atlantic, that partisan rag that always justifies leftist delusions, think those minions upstaged Trump.

No, they didn’t.

They served as a contrast. He has power. Nancy Pelosi looked like she needed to change her underpants.

They actually did their rival’s propaganda for him. A sea of faceless enemies can band together, but the Hero can stand alone.

Do you not know what you all look like?

Villain minions.

The Force is not with you.

These dress-up games should be very concerning for any woman in the US right now.

Whenever there is a reliance on theatre, it is a misdirection used to hide the fact that the person doesn’t have a plan nor power and is relying on stunts.

There is no maturity among the female politicians and it explains a lot. It is petty high school mind games in a place where you are supposed to, you know, have tangible results for the people who elected you.

If the government had genuine feminists, firebrands, trailblazers, rebels, and visionaries, there would be actual results. You can’t dine on symbolism. You are just buying time, hoping some They will do away with your enemy, and then you can lie and say your garbage contributed to it.

And the grifters wore white.

My teenaged self would be devastated that women’s rights were being thrown away in this horrific and childish way, but at least my adult self doesn’t put up with tricks like that…

Amateur Hour at the Ontario NDP. Leak at your own risk.

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As an official opposition, the NDP really don’t know what they are doing. They did rule this province once and have been elected as politicians for decades; so there is no excuse for their colossal fuckery of leading a trail of huge, radioactive breadcrumbs straight to the computer of their leaker:

Ontario NDP’s improper redaction led Ford government to leaker: Sources

Oy yoi yoi.

This is how n00bs function: they get a piece of dirt, vogue and posture in front of rolling cameras filled with ego and bad acting skills, forget the basics of trying to protect people who are going out on a limb, fuck up the message, and watch as the government fires the leaker, gets the OPP unleashed on said amateur leaker, and then no one talks about the scoop, but of your nincompoopity as you conveniently try to dodge the questions, proving you are no better than the man in charge.

The leaker was naive. The NDP were oblivious and self-serving. The Ford regime had no choice but to come down hard, and it helps greatly that this fuck up happened so early into the Tories’s tenure: because the trail was coloured with loud neon green bread crumbs, they can see how to fortify their defences, and the other potential blabbermouths are going to know that the NDP are not professionals, and they won’t give them goodies to spew for press conferences.

This thwarted headache is now a gift to Ford.

When I worked as a journalist, I tried to avoid using anonymous sources as a general rule. There often is a good, but not noble reason for someone wanting to go incognito. If their identity is made public, someone is going to blab what this person is really up to. I preferred getting information, and then going off to independently verify things through some more open and forthcoming channels. My job is to give facts in context, but I am not going to tell you what to think of those facts.

When I was asked to write the companion book to the documentary OutFoxed, I was presented with three anonymous sources, but I wasn’t told their identities, which posed a dilemma for me. The book has to reflect the documentary, and I had no say over a canned movie not of my making. The vast majority of the interviews were not anonymous, but some very important details came from those three sources.

I have a rule: I need to verify information to my satisfaction, and I have to know who I am dealing with. It is not as if I expect perfection from sources or else they are completely tainted, but if you weigh your facts and sources, eventually the scale will tip one way and you can use the intel, or it tips the other way, and you know the intel not true — and then you have to find out why you were told an untruth and what it is hiding, meaning there is more to the story, or just a completely different story than the one you were given.

It is like being Anubis, and figuring out if you are going to feed Ammit and unleash him to the person who tried to con you.

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So, I could not add anyone that wasn’t interviewed for the film (whether or not they were featured in it) to replace the three anonymous sources.

But I then took each interview and in very short order, managed to figure out the identities of all three.

And I could also verify what they said, meaning what I used was good intel. People can chose to use their own scale and dismiss an anonymous source, but the book didn’t pin everything on those three sources, either. There were the memos, other sources, and the breakdown of the actual transcripts, among other things. I offered a huge buffet of facts, you want to skip three dishes, you have hundreds of other options to choose from.

But I shouldn’t have been able to figure out who they were, or as fast I as did. If you are using anonymous sources, they have to stay anonymous. With Watergate, Deep Throat’s identity was safe for decades.

In the gossip, surveillance-happy Beltway filled with operatives, lawyers, journalists, politicians, and lobbyists.

This was extraordinary, but fair to the source who gave enough information to take down a president, but not enough was revealed to figure out who he was.

But Bob Woodward is an actual journalist. So is Carl Bernstein.

And this was back in the day when the Washington Post was a real newspaper.

But the NDP bungled this badly. It reminds me of the “Eyewitness Ed'“ episode of the cartoon The Completely Mental Misadventures of Ed Grimley.

All Horwath forgot to do was don an Astroboy hairdo and play the triangle…

More propagandistic trash from The Cut: Reality Deniers try to pretend journalism didn't collapse.

Boy, do journalists love to be in denial.

Take a look at this piece of propaganda from The Cut:

While the companies’ reasonings behind mass layoffs aren’t identical, there is a common thread: The cuts have less to do with the talent of the workers, and more to do with financial imperatives and the whims of investors.

This is pure, pathological and egotistical bullshit.

Memo to the dumbass motherfuckers at The Cut: you do not have talent.

People stopped watching and reading you.

And you were redundant and let go.

They are going to the New York Times, but that is not a good sign, as I have pointed out before.

This is the lie you are telling to save ugly face.

2100+ reporters lost their job because they aren’t bringing in the dough.

This is the new lie journalists are telling to keep reality away because the Time Person of the Year propaganda of valiant heroes didn’t take.

Or last August’s lockstep propaganda campaign that was a dud.

If your kind were profitable, there would be more journalists hired, not fired. You are not useful. Don’t be a nerd.

Newspapers are closing because they are not profitable.

You cannot make up your deceitful little minds: you beg like paupers for donations and then pretend your companies are super-profitable. You can’t even keep your lies straight.

You do not know basic business.

You don’t actually know very much at all.

This is just another tactic to keep leeching on to the public, and it is not working either, assholes…

Actrivism, Part Four: Journalists vogue around the edges. An actrivist acts inside the core.

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Bunny Yeager was a pin-up model and a contemporary of Bettie Page, but she was also a photographer who captured her fellow glamour model.

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Working from both sides of the profession was helpful and that eye of hers contributed to many of Page’s most iconic images.

The photographer who snapped my picture for Hamilton magazine was a beauty queen and model before becoming a photographer herself. By sheer coincidence, we went to the same middle school and were in the same homeroom class, but as there were three different grades in each homeroom class (6,7, and 8), we weren’t in the same grade or classes; so we knew each other, but hadn’t seen each other after the year was over.

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I usually don’t like being photographed, but she did a stellar job of capturing me as I am.

She used natural light in that magazine. I have had my photo taken professionally over the years, but the way she did her job was unique — and it was her experience from the other side of the equation that did it.

There is a balance that is a subtle representation of that era of my life — the boxer’s muscle, the prim and proper punkiness, and, of course, the computer.

The nuances of details — the comic book vibe, the jewelry, the perkiness, the black turtleneck (out of the several tops I was asked to bring — it was the one she picked) — it is all in there.

And that is not as easy to capture as it looks — all without being busy or cluttered.

Which itself reflects me: a Trompe-l'œil minimalist.

I was extremely impressed with the subtextual complexity.

But that was her genius, not mine. I was no control freak and had no expectations coming in. No overt or subtle hints from me.

But that’s what happens when you study something from both sides of the equation: no one has to tell you anything: it becomes one with the very stuff of your soul.

And you don’t need to fake anything: you’re merged inside the core because you are acting inside of it and know its every grain.

IV

Journalists always had to fake it. They vogue and have to spin a big, melodramatic narrative. And one that never aligns with reality.

Because they have no idea what this whole objectivity is about. They think it is being around the edges because it is a bad thing to be in the core.

But that’s the atom of reality. Objectivity does not mean you don’t immerse yourself or move in the very eye of the storm.

Because Left and Right is the huge red flag that you are voguing at the edge.

You are not in the atom of reality.

The Radical Centre.

When you are an Actrivist, on the other hand, you have to act, and that means you are always moving around exploring everything.

You want to get into the heart of the thing that you are studying. You are walking among the subjects and environment you are studying, but also in its core.

You are in the eye of the storm because you do not want to waste your steps. You want to understand the deepest truths — so you go right in to the core to see what is the heart of the reality to find its Truths.

Once you understand the core — the real reasons why reality is in its current state — no one can lie to you by trying to push you away from the core and toward the façade — the edge.

Left and Right are misdirections.

Both sides will try to sell you lie that they are different with one being superior to the other.

And they will point to the content, which is another misdirection.

I can tell you I believe in saving bunnies, but if I shove them in cages in the dark, then my words are meaningless.

It is the structure of my actions and methods that are important.

What are the motives, strategies — and stratagems?

That’s what you need to find out.

Journalists vogue for the public, telling them they are the guardians of the universe and all that jazz.

If you don’t know what they are doing, you will take them at their word.

If you are walking in the core of that profession, you can square the words with the behaviours.

And then you don’t have to be dependent on anyone’s word.

You have the actions. You have the results.

You have the structure to see if it contradicts the honeyed content.

But when a profession keeps the cores of what they are covering at arm’s length, you start questioning why are they so afraid of it.

Because they fear their own core — or lack thereof.

Actrivism is the way of conduct research to become one with the core. By the time you are done, if becomes part of you.

And you develop a feel and see the feints, ruses, and rigs used to keep other’s at arm’s length.

But by then, you see the misdirection of voguing and know precisely where to look and how…

Memo to Washington Post: Is your coverage of the President just juicy gossip or a political hit job?

The propaganda arm of the Amazon Establishment Empire, also known as The Washington Post are obedient little minions with this laughable conflict-of-interest article:

Was tabloid exposé of Bezos affair just juicy gossip or a political hit job?

No, your overlord/man-whore fucked his own way into a scandal all by himself. He can’t keep it in his pants, let him man-up and face the consequences. Nice try spinning this mess to make it sound like he is some sort of victim.

But as the saying goes, when you point a finger of blame in one direction, three fingers — especially the middle one — point back at you.

Does that mean that all of your anti-Trump articles are a political hit job?

Because there has been something of a spat between your overlord and the President.

For how long now?

And what better way to influence public opinion than to use you little minions as his mouthpiece?

Propaganda isn’t journalism.

How cowardly of your overlord.

He is used to cheerleading in all those fabulously fawning advertising disguised as news stories.

And now his fucking a woman who wasn’t his wife is exposed for all the world to puke.

No hit job.

He took out his gun, loaded it, gave it to his enemies, and told them the pull the trigger at his crotch.

That’s not a “political hit job.”

That’s being a moron.

So let him put on his big boy pants, take out his big boy check book, and go halfsies with the brains of the family…

Memo to the New Yorker: Der Spiegel's "pathology" infected the rest of the profession, too.

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The New Yorker has a naive piece on the Der Spiegel scandal where they let one reporter use leftie fantasy tropes and sophistry, folksy details, as he charmed the staff, knew how to outwit fact-checkers, and slathered his stories with no facts, just lots of colour and eccentric characters.

And then have the shallow twits have the nerve to talk about “deep psychology.”

No, you’re too stupid to know about “deep psychology.”

This is a replay of Stephen Glass and the New Republic.

In other words, Der Spiegel doesn’t do anything differently than any other news magazine.

They just got caught because someone in their magazine started to get suspicious.

Someone who was younger and less established — the same way Glass finally got exposed.

And nothing ever changes. Even the New Yorker is doing the same things in its telling of the scandal.

I wrote books on this problem — and even in the New Yorker piece, they are still playing partisan games, by trying to spin the idea of being upset over fake news as being some sort of Right-wing/Fascist/Trump Supporter lie.

And it isn’t.

If you are not perturbed by the amount of lies and errors being churned out in news products, then there is something seriously wrong with you.

You cannot distance yourself or try to downplay the number of scandals of deceit journalism has faced over the decades.

Fake news is a real problem. It is a real problem in mainstream Western journalism. There are no government bodies or quality control requirements or standards. The very fact that this reporter felt compelled to put some sort of qualifier in a bid to discount the “fake news” label makes this piece less than credible.

Just because you look down on people who are criticizing you doesn’t make you right or them wrong.

It is no different than the National Post always looking down on women who say that men in power sexually harassed and assault them — and then are upset because their criticisms are dismissed.

Do you not think those women aren’t a little peeved — and have merit to their arguments?

And their detractors are always trying to dismiss as being nutty and slutty?

That is the reason we cannot trust journalists reporting on their own sins and atrocities.

Because they see only their enemies’ bad habits — never their own…

Journalism's hot mess continues.

Not all crap is in the Western press, as “the sightings” of dead person Muammar Gaddafi in Chad is proven to be a hoax. Apparently, the Senegalese media outfits cut and paste from parody sites. Good job.

A Vice Canada’s former editor’s legal woes over this whole drug thing continue. Yeah, they don’t call it Vice for nothing, kids!

The noose around Gannett is tightening as the Asset-squeezers are not letting up so easy.

Newspaper printing has been outsourced at big dailies…as a part of asset-squeezing.

We have Reality Deniers at the New Yorker talking about Trump’s “shrunken presidency”, when his approval ratings remain unchanged. You truly live in the Land of the Stoned and Bladdered.

Oh, the the chicken littles at the New York Times are scared of AI reporters. Don’t worry, darlings, they’ll be just as shitty at the job as you are now.

And that big push how journalists are the guardians of the universe seems to be fading as circulations and ratings continue to plummet…

Unreadable Narrator: Just get to the point, New Yorker.

The New Yorker has a rambling piece on how author Dan Mallory is full of it. Bottom line: if someone is a liar, they aren’t all that interesting or warrant that much colour and filler.

That we have fiction authors bullshit about their lives is hardly anything new.

When you go for melodramatic bullshit stories, you are going to get hosed for eternity. The end.

Spinning yarns gets you lucrative contracts, and Mallory knows the game well.

He also knows that you can spin a story to deflect the accusations, and go on.

Vox, a publication for morons addicted to sophistry, loved the New Yorker puke-a-thon,

The greatest thriller I have read this year is not a book. It’s a new article in the New Yorker by Ian Parker about the editor and author Dan Mallory, and it is filled with so many twists and turns, such scheming and brazen lies, that it eclipses fiction. It definitely eclipses Mallory’s 2018 novel The Woman in the Window — written under the pen name A.J. Finn — which is a competent but paint-by-numbers thriller that is substantially less interesting than Mallory’s real-life story appears to be.

Honestly, if that is the “greatest” anything you have read so far in 2019, you are sheltered idiot. Go get some real life experience.

This isn’t a story to build up: this is a story to tear down. A man gets ahead in a lucrative career by conning people at work. Just the facts. Figure out how it happened and where the breakdowns are.

There is no “thriller” here. What you have is deceit.

This is the precise why journalists constantly get conned: they honestly believe sophistry, color, and babbling make a good story.

You are building up destructive people, making them sound more interesting than they are, and that makes you no less deceptive than the subject you are rambling about.

Please shut up, and try you article again…

They really need to issue blue checkmarks for genuine and unpaid outrage...

That people still believe that Twitter rage is some homegrown and organic response is interesting.

But when the press still falls for it and doesn’t try to expose the political propaganda that runs there amok, you really have to wonder.

There is an article from the New York Post how Twitter attacks “protect” people.

No, it merely exposes the paid political skulduggery going on unchallenged.

Why aren’t you questioning who is attacking or what is their real incentive?

We already know how much fraudulent activity and fake accounts there are on Twitter. There is no way to stop it unless people stopped using Twitter and then there would be no benefit to wasting resources of dispatching mass propagandists.

Don’t bother with trying to take on a paid mob.

Find out who is footing the bill, and cut off that source.

Dangle a piece of meat, get the paid hordes to react on cue, and then work from behind the curtain and expose that.

We know paid fans exist at events and it a part of the manufactured celebrity machine. We know there are fake followers on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

So why are we still not critically looking at fake outrage on Twitter?

What? You don’t think politicians build up a fake base or deflect criticism using Twitter?

Don’t buy into the fairytale. As there are absolutely no checks and balances, anyone can create any fake mass response they want.

There are no laws or regulations. You don’t know what is on the other side. Underlings, cyber goons, political operatives, bots, the politician’s mommy or daddy, anyone.

That is the way you incite emptyheads and fool the press into thinking something is genuine.

It is why I don’t stare at Twitter: other people ghost write the tweets with blue checkmarks and foot the bill for fake responses.

Let’s as a few real questions before we buy into some fake narrative…

You don't really matter, but at least try to seem heroic: How false heroes are made.

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Oddly enough, I am not a fan of The Big Bang Theory. I always found it too sexist for my liking. My mother liked the show until this last season, and she is the one who watches it. A lot. I know more episodes than I care to admit.

It is, like Monk and Seinfeld, one of the few shows that I absolutely cannot binge watch because it annoys me. I do not like self-centred characters, and Sheldon annoys me. I can stand Leonard and Raj and I pretty much owned all of the comic books and many of the superhero statues displayed, but if I see more than two episodes in a row, I have to leave.

But there is one episode that I really like.

The one posted above when Amy informs Sheldon that Indiana Jones in no way made any difference in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

A lot of fans of the movie were devastated by a very obvious observation. I knew it as a kid when I first saw it, too. I just didn’t get it. I liked the movie. It was fun, but Indy didn’t save the day.

And as a kid, I devoured the hero genre like nobody’s business. When I was really little, I wanted to be a superhero when I grew up with a trusty pet gorilla sidekick — I didn’t know about Angel and the Ape at the time.

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I wanted to have my own crimefighting costume, which I designed myself after taking a drawing course for kids at the Dundas Valley School of Art, and have my own car to drive around, looking for bad guys to stop in their tracks.

I was four.

My mother and I used to get into very surreal fights because I did not believe her that I wasn’t allowed to drive. I pointed to mini-cars — Fiats and Datsun Cherry’s as proof that they made cars for small kids; ergo, I want my driver’s license right now so I can go out and find myself a gorilla and get my crimefighting act on the road, and I had even talked my grandmother into making me my crimefighting outfit — no cape, but a mask.

And mom said no! No costume, no car, no gorilla.

In fact, I was expressly forbidden from trying to get a pet gorilla. With me, she did need to do that. I was stubborn, focussed, determined, confident, and very, very creative. I did know how to use the phone and ask the operator for assistance. I was strangely resourceful for a four-year-old and had often randomly dialled and talked to people from all over for conversations, which people usually indulged, and what I couldn’t do myself, I often could talk grandma into mischief because she thought I should have a happy and exciting life filled with bravery and meaning, and she could always veto any potential scolding. In this particular saga, mom cut that off at the pass. I was not happy with the decrees.

But then I noticed that on the news, there weren’t any caped crimefighters, let alone four-year-old ones with pet gorillas and a Fiat-mobile.

So, that was a bust. I was devastated. No other career grooved me after aside from stage magic, but my hands were too small…until I discovered writing and then teaching.

But I had comic books! Lots of DC comic books. Batman and Wonder Woman were faves, but I didn’t care for the dialogue; so I used Liquid Paper and a Bic Pen to wipe out the old dialogue, and put my own instead.

And I studied my comics. And episodes of Wonder Woman and Batman. The Spider-Man cartoons was pretty much my only foray into Marvel as a kid.

I wanted to understand what it meant to be a hero.

I was going to learn and then sublimate what I learned in whatever boring old career I had to choose because being a superhero wasn’t a thing back then.

But not that there isn’t any in the real world.

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But I understood the genre extremely well.

And heroes made a difference.

A positive difference.

So that’s how come Indiana Jones was a fun movie, but he wasn’t an actual hero.

He was an adventurer, not a hero.

But how come people see adventurers as heroes?

They seem to do a lot of the same things, and people fail to catch the nuances, but it isn’t just in fiction.

Many people make careers out of pretending to be heroes, but when you look at their role in any given event, they get accolades, publicity, and money, but things are the same or worse.

They do not transform anything.

The status quo remains, or things begin to decay.

We forget to look at the bottom line: the bombast and spotlight hogging are misdirections.

And a hero doesn’t just help other people. He helps people learn how to help themselves — and then others.

It is supposed to be a communal space.

And we often look to a They, when an Us would more than suffice…

Famous Bullshit Stories, Part One: Marrying a Billionaire is a really good idea!

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—George Carlin, from A Place for My Stuff


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Patriarchal Fiction Narratives must be one of the “Famous Bullshit Stories” form George Carlin’s Book of the Month Club.

I was a teen when I got the cassette, and my family and I listened to comedy tapes on long car trips. I remember this sketch well because mom had to stop on the side of the road because she — grandma, and I were laughing out loud with tears in our eyes. We couldn’t stop or catch our breath.

But “Famous Bullshit Stories”, got the biggest howling from us all.

While we laughed at other sketches and tapes, nothing beat Book of the Month for us. We were uncontrollable.

But back to Famous Bullshit Stories.

That is a classic.

I actually wanted to call my first book, Don’t Believe It!” How lies become news, Famous Bullshit Stories, but didn’t. That’s Carlin’s gem.

But fiction is nothing but famous bullshit stories.

Like indoctrinating women into thinking that marrying a rich guy is a good idea. He is a hoarder and a bully by default. He has to be on top of a pecking order.

I know this to be true in too many instances. I have known women who married rich men, and they are not allowed to have money on them. They cannot do chores when they want. Their husbands determined every aspect of their lives, and are abusive.

But I also knew it from other places — such as high-end boutiques where husbands doled out money for both the wife — and his slew of mistresses. Many women hid what they bought and owed money to those boutiques, terrified that their husbands would find out she spent more than he decreed. She would buy it on store credit, then tremble in her boots.

I knew as a journalist just how horrific a wealthy husband could be.

Lately, it seems that more women are speaking out about that kind of abuse, from being forced into degrading sex acts with their mates for basic food money, to being starved while the husband buys himself whatever toy he wants.

And let’s not pretend these women didn’t earn that money. Often, the men need the woman to sell all her assets for seed money. She often came up with the idea. She did work in the business. She often financially supported him and his dreams.

And then he repays her by imprisoning her.

I have always said do not waste your time and money playing king-maker. Don’t mom your husband. That takes away from your focus, and while you are too busy making him a Great Man, he has free time to procure mistresses to prove to his business buddies that he is capable of getting women into making bad personal deals where he gets more out of them than they get out from him.

And then the wife and the mistresses must make appointments to clothing stores so they don’t run into each other and have a catfight in the evening gown section.

I am not making this up.

A lot of gender inequality comes from women spending more time on their husband’s careers than their own. I used to make mental notes to myself: Memo to Alexandra Kitty: It’s all about you. Adult male can look after his own ass, and can rely on his Mommy should he be deficient.

I am not married. Footloose and fancy-free. I have had men try to control me, and the odd part was some of them I wasn’t even dating. I have had my own labour of loves and eccentric endeavours, and had men bring me to task that I wasn’t making money, I should do this instead, why I am spending money, literally priming me and grooming me to curb my indulgences and experiments.

I wasn’t hitting them up for cash. They didn’t pay my bills. It was none of their business. Yet they saw nothing wrong with their indulgences and experiments, even if they were losing more money in the bargain.

Correction: losing their wife’s money.

When I started A Dangerous Woman Story Studio, I made certain none of those famous bullshit stories were in there. Sometimes a man was unequal to the female, but she never supported him or used her connections to help him — dude was capable and he equalized himself without his wife having to appease an ego. She had her career and freedom just as he did. If I am writing about a rich man falling in love with a woman, you better believe that she’s a tycoon in her own right. I like ultimate sexy power-couples, but they will be running their own empires, thank you very much.

And I skewer the they billionaire-is-a-good-husband trope every chance I get — always using real-life cases in my stories. The World’s Most Dangerous Woman stories have a lot of billionaires who are wicked husbands. The Detective stories also have bad husbands who think money will control everyone. Those who have power didn’t get it by being nice or generous.

And then there is the Doyenne Assassin.

Not only does she whack the Dreadful who often are rich and powerful, she is also the author of ridiculous books of women sleazing it up the sex ladder to marry billionaires who rescue them — except these trashy books are coded reports of her success hits.

After all, she is the best hitwoman who ever lived. The steamy novelist is just a cover for her.

You don’t mess with the Doyenne Assassin.

Wealth is a nice thing to have. Morals are even better. Our world is one where we reward the tyrants and willingly so. We teach young boys how to be competitive and win at any cost. That’s on society.

If you want a better world, then the story you tell children has to radically change.

Don’t teach little girls to invest in their husbands. Don’t teach little boys to see their families as their means to an end.

Teach both to be self-reliant and confident. Show them how not to get on a hamster wheel. Don’t compete with your neighbours because when you die, no one will bother remembering the big mansion you had.

People have lives and better things to do than be impressed by you or your mate.

If they are like me, they have their indulgences and experiments, and prefer their own eccentric creativities over your gaudy trinkets any day...