Santa Claus is coming to town. At The Home Depot, save up on getting ready for the season …

That’s all I heard. It was 11:32 PM, I was driving on the 110 and the first ad for the Christmas season was on the radio. In the span of ten seconds, I checked the time, tried to clock the date (at first I couldn’t remember if it was still September because this was so surreal), and, after waiting to see if this was actually a real ad and not just some late-night joke by a DJ, I changed the station immediately.

I don’t even know what to write about this. Just that it’s October 10 and to be hearing Christmas promotions on the radio—for Home Depot, no less?—just feels wrong. I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe it’s because this feels like further evidence that nothing really matters anymore. All of life in the US has just become some sliver of existence between an advertisement and abject violence. And Christmas, apparently.

I don’t care much about Trump’s speech where he riffed on Iran ‘taking out’ Los Angeles and San Diego. Like, whatever. Guy says more egregious things in a week than most politicians do in their entire career. Anyone surprised or offended must live under a rock. What is kind of funny to me is just the people who cheered in the crowd.

The speech took place in Nebraska, where earlier this year over 2,000 people climbed some stairs to honor the 25th anniversary of the September 11th attacks. It’s just one of those things that goes to show how absolutely warped the red-state perspective is. Like, nothing on 9/11 affected fucking Nebraska.

So many of the people in these places will say bullshit like Never Forget while, in their next breath, hoping that some ‘liberal’ city gets wiped off the map. It’s a weird, fake patriotism where political morality adjusts to whatever point they’re trying to make (or support) in the moment. It’s the epitome of spineless American stupidity, so no wonder these people support a guy like Donald Trump.

These days I’ve been thinking about the boiling frog.

The boiling frog is an apologue describing a frog being slowly boiled alive. The premise is that if a frog is put suddenly into boiling water, it will jump out, but if the frog is put in tepid water which is then brought to a boil slowly, it will not perceive the danger and will be cooked to death. The story is often used as a metaphor for the inability or unwillingness of people to react to or be aware of sinister threats that arise gradually rather than suddenly.

Obviously this can be used as a metaphor for power and greed, which I think the United States is a prime example of in its 45-year decline since Reagan took office and conservatism has chipped away at just about everything that was beneficial to the people at large. Today, though, I’m thinking about it in a more literal sense.

Los Angeles is currently being hit with its third heat wave this summer. Usually in LA, the season is certainly on the warmer side, generally ranging between 80 and 90 degrees Fahrenheit with a few days that reach the hundreds. This year we’ve had three separate occasions where week-long heat waves where the low temperature would be 95 and even the middle of the night will be 80. While this is also a side effect of the Super El Niño going on, it certainly raises some eyebrows when it comes to climate change.

At this point it’s deadly obvious the United States has no interest in preparing for the possibly apocalyptic levels of displacement and death that could occur over the next 20-50 years. It’s not like the wealthy would care—they will most likely profit in air-conditioned offices and afford to avoid any catastrophes, and if a substantial amount of the population dies off, that means the remaining resources on Earth are proportionally larger. And they certainly don’t care about animals.)

While we’ve been the frog in the pot metaphorically for some time, now it seems like we’re in the literal phase. The climate is going to get more extreme, but not all at once. It’s just going to get slowly worse, with a few more deaths every year, until it’s far too late. Those in power will throw up their hands and say, “There’s nothing we can do about it now, you’re all on your own.” The domino effect of social deterioration will accelerate and there’s a decent chance Mad Max: Fury Road is retroactively seen as some kind of prophecy.

And the only way out of the pot is through wealth—and who knows how long that will really extend your life with the possible consequences of this looming crisis.

I hate The Grove. It’s one of two gaudy, outdoor malls in Los Angeles by a billionaire who lost the race for mayor four years ago (the other being The Americana). In the past, I’ve found myself at the latter to catch a movie in the middle of the day because it’s down the street from my mechanic and I’d need to kill a couple hours while my car was in the shop. The Grove, though, I avoided at all costs.

Now, I can’t. At least not if I want to see a new movie.

Since theaters re-opened in 2021 or 2022, I’ve been using AMC’s A-List membership. I see a shit-ton of movies and the cost pays for itself if I go just twice a month. However, I’ve also lived in East Hollywood that whole time—just a 12-minute drive from the Burbank multiplex with its 30 screens and free parking.

A couple months ago, I moved into what is basically my dream place. There’s really nothing to complain about—except now that I’m in Westlake, Burbank is a much further drive and now the closest AMC theater is at The Grove, with its 14 screens and $6 parking.

An afternoon at The Grove

There are any number of reasons I hate this place. An outpost of capitalism, there’s a kind of faux classiness to it all. There are ‘luxury’ stores but the experience of being at one of these malls is anything but. It’s the shopping center version of pleather. (Kind of ironic given Rodeo Drive is just three miles west, down Third to Beverly Hills.)

One thing going to The Grove does for me though, is that it reminds me how different people can be. It’s a real removal from my comfort zone. I walk around completely confused as to how people of all ages go to this place willingly and un-ironically, just to like, hang out. It is mystifying.

Consumerism in America is so central to national identity that places like The Grove really make me think about how the notion of what you want at a material level seeps in to every aspect of life—how being presented with certain options is disguised as being catered to, and what that means for how we view our politics. These sorts of places use the model of collective gathering to spur on the notion of individualism, and I think that’s far more destructive to the human condition of living in the United States than the specific economic model of capitalism (though the two are inextricably linked).

It’s hard to write about the fraternity rape at Cornell. Not because the story is surprising by any stretch of the imagination, but because it isn’t.

Hope has felt like a lost cause lately. Even if the seven directly accused in this case all went to prison, it wouldn’t change frat culture nationwide (where I would imagine stories like this happen far more frequently than anyone wants to think about). This incident is a symptom, not the disease. And this disease in particular is just like, a variant of a larger, deadlier one rotting away at everything in this godforsaken country.

These days I’ve been thinking a lot about Confederate flags. There was this whole segment of the United States that had to be literally beaten into submission and practically burned completely to the ground due to an unflinching support of a great evil. And still today, people fly that flag with pride, hoping for a systemic resurrection.

All I know is that everything is cyclical. We are in a moment of opinion, and at some point, someone is going to say, “Talk is cheap,” and the first domino in what happens next will fall. Violent institutions and the systems that protect them inevitably create a violent response, and every day we’re getting new examples as to why it’s time to burn it down, flags and all.