theliterateape
The Literate Ape
LIKE 'PLANET OF THE APES' BUT WITHOUT HORSES...
Literate Ape LLC is a company designed around a digital magazine.
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I Like to Watch Ep. 37— Batman (1989)
Donnie picks a superhero movie! Holy shit!
Triple Feature:
The Dark Knight (2008)
Joker (2019)
Beetlejuice (1988)
Birdman (2014)
Trailer Geek:
youtube
youtube
#Batman#The Dark Knight#Joker#Beetlejuice#Birdman#You Hurt My Feelings#Gaurdians of the Galaxy Volume 3
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Give THAT Guy a Gun!
by Don Hall
A guy. Mostly a guy. Black, white, Latino. Not so much Asian but, hey, why not?
Feeling small. Marginalized by someone. Seeking affirmation and validation without the effort it takes to accomplish much. Desperate for attention and angry that no one pays much. Very aware of the bizarre anti-guy strain of rhetoric. Still doesn’t really understand what “cis” or “queer” means. Maybe a job but it pays just enough to keep the water up to his chin but no lower. The guy primarily uses the internet to watch porn and commiserate with other sad, angry guys out in the world.
He feels invisible, pointless, and without any genuine reason to get out of bed in the morning except to continue the cycle of merely surviving in a society that has communicated that he is disposable and generally unwanted. The narcissism of victimhood permeates him like stale sweat—it’s always someone else’s fault he can’t quite get ahead, get that coin, make that impact. It may be a woman or all women. It may be other guys with differing melatonin levels or cultural costumes. It may be an “ism.” Whatever the case, he takes no responsibility for his hopeless plight because it must be someone else’s doing.
Let’s give that guy a weapon designed to kill another human being. Great fucking idea.
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The Quiet Part Out Loud
by Joe Janes
The people in our fast food restaurants who cook and clean and hand food to our customers and take their money are the lifeline of our corporation. They’re on their feet all day and pour their sweat and blood into their work and mostly not in our food. What’s the least amount possible we can pay them?
- Every Fast Food Company
Teachers set the tone and determine the quality of the experience for our students. Without them, we are nothing. Let’s raise tuitions and increase class sizes. Pay teachers as little as possible, the fewer the benefits the better. Let’s also value degrees over experience. We should also give ourselves raises and bonuses.
- Every College Administration
The people that keep our business on top are the ones who work in our warehouses and drive our delivery trucks. Let’s pay them as little as possible, admonish them for taking bathroom breaks, and literally work them to death. Ooh! And let’s buy a spaceship.
- Amazon
America is a melting pot. Land of the free and home of the brave. We are all created equal and deserve a fair chance to prosper and pursue happiness. You know I’m just talking about white people, right? And just men. Let’s also cut taxes for the rich and any programs poor people can benefit from. Can we make buying a gun mandatory while also taking away voting rights and banning abortion? Let’s also do away with those programs for youths and for mental health. Spikes in crime are good for business. We should also get raises and free healthcare. God bless US, everyone.
- The Government
Writers? I could write that. They should be happy just to have a job. If they’re not getting work, well, maybe they’re not good at writing the words like I do am.
- Hollywood Studios
Really, the best way for us to make as much money as possible is to pay our employees as little as possible without covering healthcare or retirement and making them pay for things, like uniforms and supplies. Whether they live or not is not up to us. That’s their business. We’ll do the least amount that’s legally possible while we also funnel money into changing those laws so we can eventually pay even less.
- All of Them
Got any you would add to the list?
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I Believe... [Elon Kaufman]
...that with the continued presence of children attacking their teachers, stealing Kias for joyrides, and vandalizing public and private property, we might wanna rethink the whole ‘no corporal punishment’ thing.
...that when I was in my twenties, I wore a lot of Hawaiin shirts and checkered Vans. You call yourself non-binary and wear fingernail polish. It’s all good.
...that Rachel Dolezal and Dylan Mulvany should star in the next Marvel film as a super duo. They could even use AI to digitally insert Mickey Rooney from Breakfast at Tiffany’s as the villain.
...that Republicans who supported the impeachment of Bill Clinton for having sex need to shut the fuck up about prosecuting Donald Trump for paying for sex.
...that Elon Musk is the bastard son of Andy Kaufman and wreaks havoc as a continuation of his father’s legacy.
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Literate ApeCast Ep. 280—Has Cancelling People Been Cancelled?
David went to Florida and was confronted with a fat, bald guy who put “she/her” on the name badge and he had thoughts. This leads the hosts into a discussion of promouns as fashion and the shift from cancelling people to those who have been canceled becoming uncancelled. Fortunately five-year-old Harry clarifies it.
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Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 9, 2023
By David Himmel
• Being at a hemophilia conference with tattoos feels like an unintended and unfortunate brag.
• Justice Clarence Thomas is exactly the guy today he was in 1991. An angry, entitled, hateful prick with little regard for rules that impact him.
• It’s always a shame when you wake up next to an unfinished glass of whiskey.
• Say what you will about Florida, drivers have an unusual amount of respect for runners. And yes, it does still smell like a moldy washcloth.
• Bachelor and bachelorette parties are to celebrate our last nights of freedom. Why do we hurry into relationship slavery? Slavery has never been a good thing. We either need to rethink how we view love, rethink how we love each other, or stay single and free and enjoy not having to share a bed.
• I dunno, you guys… I think Marjorie Taylor Greene is a little demented. If only America had better mental health treatment options.
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An Open Letter About Ethics from Brett Kavanaugh
by Joe Janes
Hey, America!
It’s Supreme Court Justice and Catholic middle school girls basketball team coach Brett Kavanaugh. Go, Blessed Sacrament! Win one for old Coach K. And God. And for all the fetuses who hope to some day be able to grow up and play Christian basketball.
There’s been a lot of news dribbling out of the left lately about my good friend Clarence Thomas and his so-called ethics violations. First of all, let me say that Clarence is one of the best men I have ever worked side-by-side with. Or side-by-side-by-side if you consider his patriotic wife Ginny, which I do. They are the John and Yoko of the Supreme Court.
My colleague is being persecuted just because he happens to have a rich friend. Well, if that’s a crime, lock me up! I have lots of rich friends. People can’t help it if they are wealthy. Many of them are born that way. Should I judge them based on the size of their wallet? If I did that, all my friends would be poor and that’s no fun.
The liberal media has also had their panties in a bunch over Harlan Crow, Clarence’s billionaire buddy, being a history buff. I love history. If I fall asleep on the couch watching a History Channel documentary about the Third Reich, does that make me a Nazi lover? To be clear, that answer is nein. My hand was in my pants because that’s comfortable. There was nothing funny going on. It’s how I sleep.
Look, I’ve met Harlan. He’s a good guy. True American. I went with Clarence once to one of his weekend visits to Harlan’s Texas bunker. Yes, we flew down on Crow’s private jet, but you have to understand that’s just how billionaires are. It’s no different than if your aunt picked you up in her VW to take you to lunch. To us, it was nice to conveniently fly in comfort, but to Crow that was nothing but a little thing someone who likes you does. His private jet and luxury yacht are his versions of an aunt’s VW. We shouldn’t oppress him for being loaded. He’s just a regular guy. We had a fun weekend. We sat in his jacuzzi and drank PBR out of Hitler’s boot. We were just a couple of good old boys enjoying a beer naked and wet. If you hate that, you hate America. Simple as that.
Just because Harlan’s opinions often line up with Clarence’s judgements doesn’t mean he’s influencing the court. If just means Clarence knows how to pick like-minded rich friends. Like we all do. So, please stop these senseless attacks on us justices. We’re just trying to do our jobs while also trying to have a debt-free social life.
God Bless America!
Justice Brett “Coach K.” Kavanaugh
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Amnesia Motel Ep. 55
Raveling the Ungathering Calm
chicago word brigade
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Delicious Ambiguity
by Don Hall
"In a world full of people who seem to know everything, passionately, based on little (often slanted) information, where certainty is often mistaken for power, what a relief it is to be in the company of someone confident enough to stay unsure (that is, perpetually curious)." —George Saunders
In Big Trouble in Little China Jack Burton (portrayed like a John Wayne knock-off with perfect pitch by the estimable Kurt Russell) blows off his love interest in the movie with the throw-away line—"Eventually, I rub everybody the wrong way." While I've seen that film dozens of times the line didn't land for me until this year.
Recently on a FaceTime call with a good, long-term friend, I can see he is struggling with my approach to the world as well as my almost unceasing questioning of the basic tenets of his belief system. To be fair to him, it isn't his belief system I have issue with—I have issue with everyone's sense of moral certainty. I come across as being completely confident in my own contrarian nature and when someone—anyone—tosses out a black and white perspective of the world, an obvious good vs. evil view, I'm going to dissect and interrogate it.
While I've always been my own version of the devil's advocate, I wasn't always so uncertain. I used to think in terms of right and wrong, good and evil. Even then I would come across as completely convinced of why I was right. At some point that started to shift as the things I saw as definitively righteous fell by the wayside and I became less and less certain of the structures presented that grounds society into a conforming and functioning body. The form of communication stayed the same but the focus changed. I prosecute certainty because I am so uncertain.
Eventually, I rub everyone the wrong way.
On a recent Literate ApeCast, David opens with something that should be easy. The young, black legislators in Tennessee are removed from office by a predominantly white GOP. David lobs up the softball for me to immediately go with the standard response. It's racist. Of course it is. Except, is it? I want to look up under the hood of the assumption and wonder what else might be in play. Was it simply racism or maybe a little bit the responsibility of the Dems to perhaps not disrupt the body with bullhorns, shouting down the opposing view on gun control? Might the response be in part the fault of the new normal of, instead of working with people and using discussion and incremental change to move the needle towards progress, screaming down ideas we disagree with like children having a tantrum?
"Am I tone policing? You're goddamned right I'm tone policing."
This sort of response drives David nuts but we've been dancing to this tune for a while so he knows what's coming almost every time. He understands (I think) that I'm trying out the argument to see how it lands, to see how I feel about it, to parse out what I'm willing to believe in the face of the certainty of others.
I want to believe. It is so much easier to believe than to constantly try to crack into the certainty presented and find the flaws. Believing is far easier than facing the chaos and instability of things and finding any kind of foothold. I just can't bring myself to do it.
On the FaceTime call my buddy is struggling. I know he loves me and I him but he's having a problem with my lack of conviction on things he sees as obvious certainties. He wants to dismiss me as a rightwing dipshit but he knows I'm a die-hard liberal. He believes I'm a good person but my questioning of his most sacred beliefs makes him doubt that belief.
My immediate question is "Am I a good person? I mean, really? What are the hallmarks of a good person as opposed to a bad person as opposed to just a person with some good and bad?"
I think a part of this contrarian approach comes from the fact that I was raised to believe I was special. Unique. Over time and especially in the past twenty years that notion has been disavowed. I'm certainly no villain but I have done selfish things, cruel acts, and broken hearts along the way. I've also done selfless things, assisted people, and acted in ways that would support the good person theory. I am not special—I'm completely ordinary— and with that realization and deep looks into the behavior of others I believed were special I find that we are all just apes who learned to read. We all are a duality of mensch and asshole. We are all human and humanity, over history, has the capacity to enslave some and liberate others, stand on our convictions of truth and lie like thieves. We are all certain we are the good guy in our story but that can't possibly be true.
A buddy from my early days in Chicago texts me out of the blue. "Your book is being delivered today. Good timing as my wife asked me last night for a divorce because she's decided she's a lesbian."
I immediately call him. This will be his second marriage and second divorce and he tells me that all he has ever wanted was a true love, a loyal partner, a family. I can relate. I've spent most of my conscious life seeking out that unconditional love with the belief of a zealot that such a thing exists. After three marriages, three divorces, and countless girlfriends I have to come to the conclusion that either the concept of unconditional love is a fiction we tell ourselves to be able to get up in the morning without sticking a pistol in our mouths or that I am simply unloveable in a fundamental way and, while that unassailable love exists, it does not for me. Not fond of the taste of gunpowder, I choose to interrogate the certainty of the former while still wondering about the latter.
"As soon as someone insists something is a moral imperative, I instantly begin questioning it," I tell my buddy on FaceTime. "Moral certainty on a planet designed for chaos and uncertainty is a cul de sac from which there is no escape."
"What do you believe? In nothing? What changes your mind?"
"I used to be a rampant homophobe. I was fully invested in the belief that it was wrong. Turned out I was wrong on a monumental degree. No one convinced me to change my mind but experiences and curiosity about that toxic belief I held in college lead me to see it differently. What changed my mind was the very thing that's driving you nuts—constant questioning about any certainty and wondering constantly about whether I'm wrong."
BTW—this writing is all a paraphrase. I guarantee I wasn't as articulate in real time but, hey, I'm writing it so I will always seem more reasonable in the re-telling.
I'm not a nihilist because nihilism is just a certainty that nothing has meaning or matters. I'm not an atheist because I'm certain there is a god but because I'm uncertain if there is one and what if I'm wrong?
The closest thing I'm certain of in my life (aside that nothing is certain) is a universal belief in freedom of choice as long as those choices don't hurt anyone. Who am I to tell anyone else how to navigate their own lives? Who are you? Who are any of us to dictate how people live their lives as long as no one else is harmed in the process?
My oldest friend (in that he is both old and been my friend for the longest amount of time) merely avoids conversations with me about politics or society altogether. Once in a while, I get a bug up my ass and jump in and force the issue but, for the most part, we talk about the things we're doing, the art we consume, and how we feel about being straight white dudes in a world that has decided we've had our time and need to move aside. I suspect he's a bit embarrassed by me as I rubbed a few too many people the wrong way back in the day but I love him, he loves me, and we know how to dance to that tune just fine.
“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity. ” — Gilda Radner
I find that living in a state of uncertainty is a more optimistic path. I don't know for certain that if I cross a street I won't be run over by a car but I choose to cross anyway. I'm not certain that I won’t choke to death on a piece of delicious cheese but I choose to eat it far too many times for my waistline. I’m completely and overwhelmingly uncertain of any prospects for romance ever again but I’ll likely choose to date at some point in the future despite all indications that it will go badly for me.
Buying a house anywhere in the Midwest or on one of the coasts is an uncertain risk as the climate pummels the planet and burns, floods, or uproots homes all across America. It takes a true optimist to go through all the financial hassle in the face of that uncertainty but it is an act of hope to do so.
Having a child in a society that values both mothers and children so callously is an act of defiance against the uncertainty of humanity but people choose to procreate nonetheless.
My family is certain that I believe I know everything. I get it. I’m obnoxious that way. It’s why, if I say something that might be wrong, my mom immediately fact-checks. I’m wrong about half the time about most things. I certainly sound like a know-it-all but the exact opposite is true. I’m uncertain about just about everything and my way of refining that into a semblance of capable predictability is to argue the point, challenge any certainty I encounter, and continue to find something resembling concrete ground.
Eventually, I rub everyone the wrong way.
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I Believe... [Adulting]
...that walking aimlessly, listening to rock songs, and dacing on street corners is really way better than meditating or yoga for finding your center.
...that if the sex is a challenge in the beginning, the sex will be the cause of the end.
...that moral certainty on a planet designed for chaos and uncertainty is a cul de sac from which there is no escape.
...that the challenge of being a single adult is that there is no one around to say “Honey? Maybe that brick of cheese and craft beer could wait until tomorrow.”
...that anyone even remotely surprised that the Tennessee legislature got rid of the loud, young black men has never set foot in Tennessee.
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Literate ApeCast Ep. 279—Guns, Democrats, and the Failure to Move the Needle
Americans LOVE guns. 400 million in a country with 330 million people. Unsurprisingly, neither of the Apes has a solution but certainly have opinions.
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An Unrelentingly Depressing Poem
By Elizabeth Harper
She looked at the world
and knew there was no hope.
Seeing the unending layers of ugliness,
she knew the world would never be perfect
and she couldn’t stand to live in it.
There was no hope and
she didn’t want to live anymore,
surrounded by liars and fools.
And all the people were toxic
to each other.
And there was no common ground and
no way to be true to themselves
without hurting others.
And every gain and triumph
felt like grieving and death.
Other people were torture to her,
like trillions of tiny pinpricks all over her skin,
covering every inch of her body.
She couldn’t protect herself.
There was no way they couldn’t hurt her,
oblivious, insensitive, mistaken, wrong.
She wanted to peel her own skin off.
She wanted to cut out her tongue.
She wanted to be invisible.
She wanted to melt and disappear into the universe.
She wanted to be done.
Was it better to wait it out,
knowing it would only get worse?
Was it possible she’d ever get used to it,
not mind so much?
Drinking and music were her solace.
Fucking another person was too risky,
could only end in disappointment and shame.
Her home became a grave
she shared with her memories and regrets.
And then eventually, inevitably, she was gone.
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Resisting the Forces of the River is the Only Choice
by Don Hall
When I was a child, I had a recurring dream.
In the dream, a world of grayscale, I'm standing on one side of a violent, thrashing river—perhaps 100 yards from the other side. The wind blows in random gusts and the water responds in plumes and sprays, daring me to try to cross. On the far side is a figure but I can't quite make him out. I try to screw my eyes harder to see his face, to read the expression, to connect. Because it is a dream, the face becomes closer, clearer, and while I am aware of the invisible rage passing between our gazes, I can see that he is trying to look into me as well.
I get the feeling the He is Me, that He may have something important to tell me, something vital. The feeling that I desperately need to connect with this person on the far side of the raging nature is overwhelming and, as if my need is so powerful that it can move the confines of the physical world, I notice that the river begins to shrink and He and I are closing in one another.
As we get closer, as if the very act of minimization infuriates the river, the wind and water become even more violent and hurricane-like, making seeing Him even more difficult. This continues until I can almost see Him clearly, confirm that He is Me and receive that urgent message...
...and then it ends.
I don't know how many times I had this dream but I believe it was nightly for years. From the time I was three or four until around my eighth year. A habit of mine was to rock myself to sleep on all fours. Not so unusual except that I would rock so hard that I would bang my head into the wall over and over, eventually creating a permanent indentation in the drywall and cracking two of my wooden crib headboards. I think this was my three and four year old way of trying to knock this dream out of my head.
∆∆∆∆∆
In times of turmoil, the advise most given by the Zen/AA crowd is to ‘be as a leaf on the river.’ Go with the flow and that sort of thing. The idea being that by allowing the current to take you along its path, one expends less unnecessary energy fighting against the currents of current events. Relax, chill out, and float.
Depending on the specific river, this isn’t bad advise. A slowly moving ride is sometimes exactly what is necessary and, as in the Zen story about the guy who just wants to cross to the other side, not a bad choice. The raging whitewater monstrosity of my dream is not a great river to be a leaf on. That sort of tumult rarely takes you anywhere but over a waterfall or into some jutting rocks. A violent current requires resistance.
There seems to be a misjudgment these days at what resistance looks like. Today’s resistors want to tame the river, to stop the water, to reverse its direction. Resistance isn’t about control. Resistance is not moving with the water like one of those jutting rocks. The rock stands its ground. It lets the water crash into it and be forced around rather than be moved by the force. It’s the difference between civil disobedience and civil unrest.
There's an awful lot of pissing and moaning by the GenZ about the Boomers and just as much from the Boomers about the Zoomers. The simple answer to the huge differences in approaches is that the eldest in our collective have had a lifetime to become who they are and believe in what they choose. They are not entirely set but mostly so. They are the rock in the water, defiantly resisting the rush of news, cultural wars, and unrelenting bullshit that passes for what we're supposed to give a fuck about. Like the stone, the water does chip away and erode the outer layers but the core is solid. Zoomers are not formed yet. The water carries them from place to place, tossing them around like the aforementioned leaves. They haven't lived enough life to figure out who they are yet.
Of course these two generations don't see eye to eye on almost anything.
To my mind true resistance does not require rage because you can't fight rage with more of it. I mean, you can but it rarely ends up well for anyone. Resistance is about the possibility of change. If everyone is dead or disabled by the melee is the change you seek, I suppose the righteous rage makes sense but also, you're a dick and a thoughtless one at that.
True resistance is standing firm and immovable in the face of the injustices of the world (which, face it, mostly comes from other literate apes rather than the devil or spirits or bad luck). For all the screaming, angry protests of the summer of 2020, the one that stood out for me was two years earlier when Patricia Okoumou climbed the Statue of Liberty to protest the detention of migrant children. She remained on the base for more than three hours, and Liberty Island was evacuated. It was solid, focused, and made international news.
∆∆∆∆∆
These days I don't dream much (or at least I don't remember them with any clarity). Once in a while, I'll wake up and recall the elements of a dream that involves one of the husband's of an ex-wife and a Zeppelin but rarely.
As for my acts of resistance, they tend toward smaller and less noticeable refusals to play along as well as my own natural contrarian attitude. I was skeptical in the eighties of the Satanic panic, I never bought into the repressed memory craze and, in both cases, I was on point. Likewise, I won't stoop to categorizing all differences down to race or adopt the hysteria of a genocide against transgender people by refusing the dogma of erasing the notion of biological sex.
The raging river is supposed to rage but we need to be focused on what's on the other side.
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Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 2, 2023
By David Himmel
• Listening to the news in the car with my five-year-old son. They’re talking about Donald Tump’s indictment. Harry asks me about Trump. “Why is he a bad dude and what did he do as president?” I give him the headlines. He stops me midway through. “Dad, when you’re done telling me about Donald Trump, can you never talk about him again? Because he’s bad and I don’t want to talk about him anymore.” Well said, kid. Well said.
• Is the Easter Bunny male or female? Or am I a monster for asking in such binary terms?
• Conversation is hard. Don’t take it personally.
• Come to think of it, don’t take anything personally. Life is far more enjoyable when you’re a sociopath.
• The first sign of spring is not buds on trees or even tulips pursing through the chilly dirt. It’s the moorings going in the harbors.
• Twenty years does not make for old age. But it is a long time.
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I Like to Watch Ep. 36—Wild Things (1998)
The Professor and the Madman get into it over one of the cheesiest/sleeziest movies of the late nineties, John McNaughton’s Wild Things. The film causes the boys to get into some dicey territory about what is and is not acceptable in film from days gone by.
Triple Feature:
Zola (2020)
Spring Breakers (2012)
Malice (1993)
Color of Night (1994)
Trailer Geek:
youtube
youtube
#Wild Things#Zola#Spring Breakers#Malice#Color of Night#The Blackening#Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse
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Trump Unable to Do Community Service Due to Bone Spurs
by Joe Janes
In anticipation of potential incarceration from the “Soros-rigged justice system”, according to Trump himself, his lawyers presented the judge at his arraignment a list of pre-emptive demands.
Here is the transcript.
Your honor, it is unprecedented that a former US president be considered for any kind of legal punishment beyond a fine he can pawn off on his supporters. With 34 felony charges and a maximum sentence of 136 years, it looks like some prison time, however nominal, is inevitable. Our client has requested we officially enter his demands under should this occur.
1) No community service, like picking up garbage along the side of the highway. Our client, as supported by a doctor’s note from 1968, suffers from bone spurs.
2) Weekly conjugal visits from hot models and porn stars selected by our client, this includes his current wife who might like to role play prisoner and warden’s wife.
3) That the food in the prison cafeteria be served buffet-style complete with an omelet station, ice cream sundae bar, and a ketchup fountain.
4) Our client is concerned that being an ex-president in prison could make him a target for any liberal convicts who would like a piece of him. He would like to either have a 24/7 secret service detail or have secret service members found guilty of insurrection be his cell mates.
5) The cell should be in the VIP section of the compound. He is fine with the toilet being out in the open next to his bed and wonders why he didn’t think of that before.
6) President Trump will continue his run for the presidency in 2024 and will require internet access for Truth Social, a television set with cable, a telephone, and use of the prison yard for rallies.
7) Our client demands protection from becoming anyone’s “bitch” unless said person has been pre-approved by Vladimir Putin.
We realize this is an unorthodox measure, your honor, but we believe our esteemed client deserves preferential treatment if he is required to serve. (Trump whispers in his attorney’s ear.) One more thing, your honor. Our client would like to build a golf course next to the facilities using cheap prison labor and then not paying for it.
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