Over 20 years ago, an odd little volume appeared in print, cataloging ordinary Americans’ dreams about William Jefferson Clinton. It included gems like the following: I was going to the Folklife Festival, just like I do every year. When I got to the Seattle Center I picked up the schedule, but instead of listing musical […]
Author: davenoon
Today being the last teaching day of fall semester, I finally get to reveal to my students the outcome of the American Civil War. Ordinarily, I would resort to boring clichés about how the Union won
Rumors that Ted Cruz is being considered for the Attorney General’s position, or to soak up the urine stains left in Antonin Scalia’s Supreme Court chair, ought once again to settle the ri
My original election shitshow post was supposed to be followed up a few hours later with a second part consisting of five more entries that would happily culminate with a Clinton victory. I stopped writing, however, as soon as the numbers in Virginia, Florida, and North Carolina began looking worrisome. Soon after, I stopped thinking […]
Our long national cake fart is nearly over. I was reflecting yesterday on the magic of the previous 18 months, and it occurred to me that history usually helps bring clarity to the present, except whe
If you were thinking that Jill Stein’s campaign could really use a boss white hippity hopper who supplies you with abundantly mad rhymes and ill beats on the Victrola, your burnt offerings and s
Jamelle Bouie has an excellent piece in Slate about the historical echoes and contemporary roots of Trump’s effort to cast advance doubt on the results of next month’s election, one that he will in all likelihood lose. By urging his supporters to be alert to devious activity in “certain areas” of Pennsylvania, for example, or […]
It’s often not easy for black folks at a Trump event, though he occasionally spots a friendly face in the crowd and wonders for a moment if he might, in fact, actually own him somehow. Yesterday
(1) It’s now obvious that a Clinton presidency will almost certainly resemble the final, ghastly days of Konstantin Chernenko’s brief reign. Although I was prepared to vote for Clinton, th
Donald Trump, racist whoopie cushion, appeared this afternoon in my hometown of Roanoke, Virginia, where I’ve relocated my insomnia for the past few weeks. Because I’m pathologically incapable of avoiding cheap and writable discomfort, I stood in line for several unwhiskeyed hours in 100-degree heat to experience the least-amusing civic joke in recent American history. […]
A day rarely passes in which I don’t congratulate myself for abstaining from Twitter, but fuck me with a roasted gerbil, today offers a special reminder that whatever time I might devote to that
Donald Trump is that kid who shows up in your basement and wants to play your electric guitar even though he doesn’t know a single chord. He insists that he’s awesome and can totally rock