To create software, you need programmers. Unfortunately. They are expensive, lazy, and almost impossible to control. The software they create either works or doesn’t, but you still have to pay them, every month. Of course, it’s always better to pay less. However, sometimes they may figure out they are being underpaid and quit. How do you prevent that? Unfortunately, we can’t use violence any more, but there are some other mechanisms. Let me share.
If the Mekons were what you claim they are, in other words, everyone would already know and acknowledge it. That they don’t is proof you’re wrong.
The irony here is that this line of reasoning is precisely what has always obsessed the Mekons, the very thing that a lot and maybe most of their best work is about: Does it matter what you say if no one really cares about it?
i am usually loath to comment on specifics of American politics. As a Canadian, i am conscious that i have no standing in the affairs of another country. Mostly though, i wish for a Canada where those affairs don’t matter to us. More than enough politics that directly affect me and my neighbours, on the federal, provincial and municipal levels, to worry about.
Nonetheless, this article is remarkable to me because i think David Wong has the US situation exactly right.
The level of despair that brings people to support a complete, thorough and utter tool like Donald Drumpf is staggering. This despair is certainly not unique to the USA. (Brexit is a similar situation in some ways…)
What are the differences between rural America and rural Newfoundland, really? Lots of things, i guess, but one comes to mind: in Newfoundland, the desperate were still mobile enough to emigrate; mostly to Alberta, but right now Alberta is stagnant. In the long term, climate change may make the petroleum industry obsolete, and a resource-based economy untenable overall, while manufacturing in Canada has been just as dead as in America.
Indeed, seeing both movies is a richer experience than seeing either one alone. One says nobody should make a Christine Chubbuck movie. The other defiantly says, “We’re gonna make it after all.”
[…] obsessive ritualization of self-care comes at the expense of collective engagement, collapsing every social problem into a personal quest for the good life. “Wellness,” they declare, “has become an ideology.”
[…] the nature of the book means that there will be two types of reviews of it. The first type will come from comics and geek-culture websites, whose reviewers have rarely read anything more taxing than X-Men: God Loves, Man Kills. A 1200+-page literary novel is, pretty much by definition, going to overwhelm them, and they’ll say so.
The other type of reviewer is the writer for the arts pages of the broadsheets, and they will compare it to books like Infinite Jest, Gravity’s Rainbow, Lanark. They’ll mention the chapter written in the style of Finnegans Wake. They won’t say “this is a big, hard, book” explicitly, but they’ll only refer to it in the context of famously-difficult works.
The fact is that Jerusalem does merit comparison with all those other books — like them it is a monstrously clever, awe-inspiring book, an omnium gatherum that uses different literary styles and genres, that ties together all the author’s thoughts in one massive explanatory, exploratory, novel.
When had astrology become our irrationality of choice? Probably sometime around 2012, when things were not so good for us. When you’re feeling stuck, one way to convince yourself change is in the near to middle distance is to read a horoscope. It didn’t matter that the mechanism by which it worked was dubious: cosmic forces emanating from the ordered motions of celestial bodies, wiggling down through the atmosphere in invisible rays to be inspired by human lungs. A broken clock is right twice a day, and weren’t there plenty of things we took to be true without understanding how they worked—GPS, menstrual synchrony, gluten? Our horoscope, at least, gave us something to look forward to. We weren’t idiots, just a little depressed, and comforted by this garrulous pseudoscience that advised, encouraged, cautioned.
“It doesn’t fucking matter that The Hip had limited success in the U.S.,” wrote music journalist and broadcaster Alan Cross in the days after Downie’s diagnosis went public. “There’s only one reason why things didn’t work out: bad record contracts. It had nothing to do with the band being ‘too Canadian’ or the inadequacy of their music.”