A Week that Elevated Meaningless Grandstanding to an Avant Garde Form of Surrealist Art

by VanessaVaile

The week before this past week, more of the same. ICYMI and want to catch up on theater — plus a recommendation/introduction to a group blog I think you will enjoy reading and should be following.

Tropics of Meta aims to offer a fresh perspective on history, current events, popular culture, and issues in the academic world. Founded in 2010, ToM has published over 700 essays by historians, social scientists, artists, filmmakers, and creative writers both within and outside the academy, giving voice to communities across the United States and the world.

❝Unlike many academic blogs, we do not focus on a particular subdiscipline or regional or thematic specialization. Rather, our platform is open to a broad and inclusive discussion of issues ranging from cities to technology, from music, food, and film to gender, race, and sexuality. We are particularly interested in urban history, legal history, media studies, oral history, and public history.❞

https://tropicsofmeta.com/about/

Tropics of Meta

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This week was a banner one in Trumpian surrealism, as the big, wet president vowed that even if all the Fake Ass Friends betray him, Kim Jong Un while always open his ever-loving arms.  And a vainglorious “mole” in the White House gave the chattering classes the injection of top-grade Saigon Blonde heroin that they have been jitterily jonesing for for months.

Meanwhile, an arch-Catholic fascist pat of Land-o-Lakes butter is cruising on his way to the Supreme Court, continuing his ceaseless quest to make transvaginal ultrasounds a human right.  Mr. Kavanaugh was not completely undeterred, though.  No, no one could stop Our Fair Haired Boy from Newark, NJ, Cory Booker, from doing his A Few Good Men bit, or Kindergarten Cop, or whatever.

cory booker mad You’ll like me when I’m mad

Strange times indeed. Aretha Franklin, Burt Reynolds, and the Village Voice are gone. The labor movement teeters on the edge…

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