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White Supremecy

So. I've been to a white supremacist rally.

Maybe you've heard this story. It's gotten a lot of play over the last decade. I was in college and there was a rally in my home town lead by members of the KKK. And I was like "Here? Out in public." I remember it was a big deal because the city had to spend something insane like $200 grand on protecting the march and the speech from the people that didn't like hate speech. I was a stringer for my college newspaper and I thought, hey, I could pass as a gentile. Why not see what all the fuss is about.

If you haven't been, and you're white enough, go. Talk to the people, get into conversations with them, it's illuminating. It'll help you understand the country better.

They're a bunch of people who live and work in this same world as you do. One of the gentlemen I talked to had his blooddrip cross pendent on, he ran a used car dealership. His advice: "Scream, 'He's coming right at me' right before you pull the trigger, that way you can claim self-defense." Scream it right before you kill a black person in cold blood. The other people in the semi circle nodded in thoughtful agreement.

There was a gentlemen with a flaming swastika tattoo on one arm and a flaming cross on the other who shook my hand and said "Burn, Jew, Burn." Then laughed and said the same thing to the next person (as I quietly soiled myself...figuratively).

It should be noted that I was doing my best Max Clark. Not Maximilian, son of Janis Goldman, named for my grandfather Mordecai Averum, no, no. Clark. Good American Clark. I got a couple of squinty glances as you know those jews, 'the great interlopers.' Could be anywhere. But I got by.

There were old men and women who looked like they were at a family reunion, they brought lawn chairs and gossiped with other people. They brought extra signs, in the back of their station wagon, a couple of them had pictures, actual pictures, of lynchings. I expected there to be casseroles with the atmosphere. Another letdown.

These were klansmen, mostly. Happy to be outside without the hoods. This was at the pre-rally. I got the info online. Everyone was going to take a bus to the rally itself, behind it's tall city-funded barb wire fences. For their protection.

At the rally itself, hosted by a radio personality on the subject of black on white crime--a pandemic!--there were two...let's call them "zones" instead of "3 walled cages." One was for protesters, the other for unaffiliated supporters, who turned out to be mostly neo-nazis.

I decided as long as I've come this far, why not? The Neo-Nazis, were traditionally dressed, heads shaved, leather boots. What do they have to hide? They're white and proud. They had a love/hate relationship with their more secretive Kousins. I suspect there's some overlap, but not as much as I'd expected. Some of them had brought their kids. The guys I talked to were really well-spoken. They were following some of the KKK politics with disdain, "new leader in the midwest is such a showboat...."

The speaker had a mostly nonsense speech, describing the black animal. He'd get occasional applause from the nazis, especially when he brought in their favorite punching bag with historical tidbits such as, "Of Course, it was the JEWS that built those slave ships to punish the good WHITE people with the BLACK ANIMALS." Right. Forgot about that. But these people didn't. They would nod along.

There's stuff everyone should know. White people are the only people. Not you Jews, I mean, white people. Statistics show it. Blacks commit crimes in public, jews do it in secret, muslims do it with explosives and the whites get the blame. Always the blame.

These people spent the whole day, smiling and nodding and praising the blessed truth they were allowed to share.

White Supremacy is a religion with a chosen people, it's members are fanatics who will do anything to advance their cause and they are everywhere.

Now this was my experience in 2007. I spent the vast part of last year being constantly and violently reminded of it, hence my vitriol in your feeds.

In 2017, it's not much different, except you hear the rhetoric more and you hear it louder and from more places. If you try to see their perspective, you are thinking about it wrong. What you have to understand is that it isn't a position. They can not and will not be argued with. This isn't an idea these people have, it is central to their nature. If you tolerate them in any way, you empower them. And they will use that power to intimidate and persecute others. They will shoot first and call it self-defense.

If you are a Republican and you have not disavowed them you are enabling them. You deserve a better party than one that lets these people in. If you are a centrist and have not disavowed them you are enabling them. If you are the President of the United States and you do not disavow them, then you give them the greatest endorsement they've had since the Dixiecrat split.

The line's drawn, folks. And it's not Democrats vs Republicans. It's not an ideological rift. It's people the think I deserve to live and people who don't. Their side is ready for war. It's the duty of any patriotic American to make sure they lose. Give them no comfort, no patience, no home.

Do not joke about it.

They are very serious.

Hugs and Kisses,

Max.

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I think it’s strange to say that Terry Pratchett is one of my biggest influences when I’ve only truly been a dedicated reader of his for a couple of years. And yet in that time (during which I’ve read 40 of his novels) I’ve made it true. From the first page I’d read (in Mort at my girlfriend’s suggestion) there was an instant kismet. Few people have ever read my prose, not that many have read or seen much of anything I’ve written so far, but there’s something in the way I used to write as a child, a sense of humor a sense of space that I think I’ve always tried to be a pale imitation of what Pratchett has woven so masterfully over the last 30 years. 

And then I take heart. I read the Colour of Magic and I see the obvious influences left by Douglas Adams and remember that all writers are copies of their literary heroes at first and then they mature. Sir Terry’s voice came through trial. He was human. And dying seems to be a sort of natural proof of this.

I’ve never been one to mourn at the passing at a stranger for too long. When a celebrity dies, my heart goes to the family, but, it’s not as if I truly knew the person, so I keep it at arms length. Terry though, he’s a novelist. I let his strange and curious thoughts occupy space inside my mind. His creations have cleft a home in one of the many wings of my own imagination and I think may always live there in their own corner of Ankh-Morpork.

When I heard of his death, my first thoughts were those of satisfaction. Here was a man who had fought for the right to die and finally he had obtained that right in the natural order of things. I think I felt sadder when I had first learned of his Alzheimer’s diagnosis and thought of what it must be for a mind like that to turn on itself. Yet, selfishly, although I know he is happier to have gone with most of his brain intact, I can��t help but hurt for the hole he has left in this world.

He was a hero of mine, and like all heroes who inspire their followers through intelligence and charm and careful spell-checking, he felt like a friend. And I will miss this friend, this hero, this stranger, this mind. 

Farewell.

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I finally made it! So excited my dating A-game is finally being appreciated.  (Plus some free press for our good friend Como T. Llama)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BrUey0loEHk

Holy SHIT. Maximilian has a llama friend in every one of his pictures. EVERY.SINGLE.ONE.

*drops panties*

That is fucking next level. Bravo sir.

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Oh god. Now if having this tumblr wasn't enough, I've added up-to-the-minute updates about the banalities of my life and career to the internet. Definitely, probably exist now.

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Walter and I are back in show business. Heading out to LA to film a six-episode season of Llama Cop! for Starz Digital. Bauer's a by the book detective out for revenge, Callahan is a daring, renegade loose canon who happens to be a Llama. Can they work together long enough to bring down a drug ring and avenge Bauer's former partner's death? Find out this March on Union Pool.

This is my life now. It's the best.

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It's official. My new drama "...Now You Don't" is getting on it's feet on June 4th. So far it's going to be a pretty full house and a terrific cast. I'm exceptionally proud of this work and happy that things are coming together so well. 

Two years well spent. 

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. . .Now You Don't

The public reading of my new drama ". . .Now You Don't." is coming June 4th. It's a story of what we choose to tell others, of family and Alzheimer's. There's even a little magic in there.

Tickets will be free and available soon. 

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Creative Writing

This has been a creative time. I just finished a new and improved draft of my new play, now called ". . .Now You Don't." It's a pretty heavy drama about Alzheimers and the things we leave unsaid in life. I think I'll post some excerpts every now and then.  But now that it's done and in the hands of my favorite director in the world, Katie McHugh, I'm getting to start a pretty interesting side project that accompanies it.

In the play, Adrian Deraby, is a young man with an interesting job. He interviews the terminally ill and draws out their life stories, coaxing them into saying everything they need to before their time comes. Throughout the script are excerpts from interviews, but feeling that my fictional monologues (though brilliant) are just sort of ordinary, I'm going out and collecting interviews. Real people's stories. Now, not all these people are dying (although it'd be great if I worked some in), but I hope to talk to 20-50 people. What will follow, I hope is a really interesting audio project, which could run along with the production or be fairly interesting on its own.

In other news, look out for upcoming Top Secret Projector Room videos. We're working on all sorts of stuff. Including a new sketch of mine we're filming on monday. 

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First Lines

There is a folder on my computer reserved for works "in progress." A high percentage of the hundred or so of these are just one line. Now, I will eventually be using at least some of these, but so they don't go to waste I'm happy to share. Perhaps they might inspire you. Many have been idling away on my harddrive since 2006. They make a rather fascinating read on their own. Here's 8 selected at random:

-1-

"Mark walked home with no doubt in his mind; the death of his father gave him a sense of purpose he could never have predicted. True, he would have preferred the street sweeper had not caught the man in his morning jog, but since it had, Mark was suddenly filled with a newborn confidence. He looked at his reflection in the toffee shop, and found the Tomato costume had lost its appeal."  (2007)

-2-

"It is a commonly observed, yet seldom recognized fact that there is only so much luck in the world to go around. For most people this luck is shared in perfect unknowing harmony." (2010)

-3-

“If he starts another car game I’m jumping.” Vesper thought as the van rambled along the grating of the bridge. There were three hundred miles left. (2008)

-4-

     "Derrick was reading Oliver Twist, and since he was only a quarter of the way through it, he felt entitled to steal his morning bagel. Five days later, when he had read another quarter, he was overcome with such remorse, that he returned to the vendor and, explaining his situation, paid him the $1.50 owed, with interest. The vendor took it, also with interest. " (2008)

-5-

The last thing to go will be your hearing, they told me. I still hold it. The sound of the ocean, the waves crashing down with the roar of a strong wind. The memory is like a shell close to my ear, still as fresh as the day I sat there in the sand, feeling the smooth, silky surface shift and sway around my body. (2009...I was going through an alliterative phase, fortunately this fascination has faded.)

-6-

“Beware the six-eyed monster” The old woman told me on the street-corner. I first thought that perhaps she meant envy, because I couldn’t remember how many eyes the envy monster was supposed to have. I couldn’t imagine why it would be six. I wouldn’t be jealous of a six-eyed monster. Maybe if it had six arms. A man could do a great many things with six arms. (2008)

-7-

            The last thing we moved out of my father’s attic after he died was his desk.  Big oak thing, hand carved with spirals up each side and ram heads for drawer handles.  Mom thought it was the ugliest thing she had ever seen, but dad had had it since the forties and he wasn’t about to let it get thrown out just because it didn’t match the carpeting.  Though, as he told me every time he had to mow the lawn, take out the trash or sleep on the sofa, marriage is about compromise. (2009)

-8-

            It's a good thing I don't have any life insurance, then I really might be worth more dead than alive. Right now it's a wash and, now that I think about it, that's really the big thing that's keeping me going. (2010)

-- 

I think #6 is my favorite.

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Socialization

You are doing something ridiculous all the time. Something that makes absolutely no sense, is inefficient and potentially hazardous. I'm doing it too and it's frustrating the hell out of me because I'm not sure what it is yet.

Backstory:

I was sitting on the subway watching people sitting there being quiet, legs in front of them, staring off, but not at anyone in particular when this woman and child came in. Now if you've ever been on public transportation with a small child you know the game. The wonder of being in a crowded (granted pathetically slow and linear) roller coaster without a safety harness is overwhelming, but this parent had it on lock-down. Child got rowdy, mother set her straight; her arms and legs were kept within the ride at all times.

It was then that I really appreciated the effect of learned behavior. Those people sitting silently on the train weren't doing so because of the natural order of things, they were doing it because their child-selves were being cautioned against doing anything else. It's far more natural to just go ahead and look at that dude with the weird lip thing--"It's not polite to stare" cautions the socialized voice--so we don't. But this isn't the interesting part. 

What's interesting to me is that everything we do is a combination of that which we have been taught through socialization (parents, media, social interactions) and that which we've pretty much had to figure out on our own. This means that there is probably at least one thing, but more likely many things that EVERYBODY does that is preposterously stupid. I love my mom, and she did a fantastic job, but our parents are not infallible and while the greater averages of groupthink will have smoothed out some of the greatest inefficiencies (Well, nearly), you'd have to expect there would be some outliers. 

The Issue:

Now I'm not even talking about social biases, intolerances, differing ideologies (which is a whole other debate); I'm talking about the little things, from how we brush our teeth, to the fact we use umbrellas to how we walk and organize ourselves into lines. These conventions started from necessity, then once that need was met people stopped worrying about it and just began passing these standards down generation to generation until all meaning or purpose was lost. How many people know the origin of the handshake? (Even wikipedia isn't sure) The fact that everyone else does it does not make it sacrosanct. In fact the fact that everyone else does it probably means that there is something seriously wrong with it. 

Honestly, I haven't put enough thought into what these preposterously stupid socialized conventions actually are, but knowing that they're out there is half the battle.  And so to you, great internet, I posit this: Find the glaring functional inadequacy in life and you can win. If there isn't a pile of money in fixing the handshake or redesigning parking or eliminating pants, I'll trade in my schwinn for a penny-farthing. 

Happy hunting.

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About the Author

I was looking through some old folders and I found this; a piece from when I was bored in 2009. 

About the Author

         Born 12 September 1865, to one of the oldest houses in London—so old, in fact, that it was condemned the year after. He achieved immediate notoriety following the release of his first novel, The Price of Albacore, which tells the story of a young aristocrat who struggled to come to terms with the loss of his afternoon tuna melt. Though this work was exceptionally well received, his acclaim was quickly tainted by the release of his next major work, London Literary Critics Are a Load of Toothless, Insufferable Windbags. This novel marked the beginning of a long and terrible depression, rumored to be the result of an unrequited love affair with the Duchess Connaught. For close to a decade he carried on a correspondence with Connaught, before this affair was discovered by her husband, father, lover and the duchess herself. Ironically, his literary merit may have gone wholly unrealized if not for his subsequent exile and imprisonment in Siberia on a trumped up jaywalking charge. Working alongside such masters as Fydor Dostoevsky, he wrote his first true masterpiece, The Frozen Beard; a timeless tale of the desolation and boredom for a couple on holiday in an endless tundra. 

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The Website

I have been a living breathing person for the last 9,306 days or so. However, several people have informed me that because I do not have a website, I do not, to my great surprise, actually exist. Although I doubt Renee Descartes would have agreed with this sentiment, I've always been a pragmatist, and so now this has happened.