“Theres a laundry list in the book of things that people can personally do but when it comes right down to it, the most important thing is for us all to be educated and to be skeptical.”
– John Perkins
John Perkins book Confessions of an Economic Hit Man is the most terrifying book you will ever read. There is no serial killer, no mass murderer, no nuclear apocalypse and no rapists, in fact it is scarier than all those things. The book tells the story of the people who make this world a worse place to live. “Economic hit men,” John Perkins writes,” are highly paid professionals who cheat countries around the globe out of trillions of dollars. Their tools include fraudulent financial reports, rigged elections, payoffs, extortion, sex, and murder. After all the terrible things Perkins has done in his life he is now trying to inform people of the right way to look at the world and make it a better place.
Electric power and political power are two sides of the same doubloon. There is no way to separate the power you get through a wire so you can burn your morning toast, from the political power needed to overcharge you for it. – Greg Palast, Vultures’ Picnic
Greg Palast’s latest book contains more stinking shit per page than there is in the tanks at your local sewage works. A detective story that’s all too true, in Vultures’ Picnic, Palast, a forensic accountant and PI turned author and investigative journalist, uncovers the power and money hungry elite who take a big fat dump on our environment and democracy as a matter of course – common decency merely being the cost of doing business for these “high living” scum.
Over the course of the book’s 400+ pages, Palast, a honey-dipper* extraordinaire (who is perhaps best known for being the first to figure out exactly how Bush stole the 2000 election), chases the “turds around the planet” who are responsible for some of the biggest steaming piles of shit to hit newspaper headlines in recent memory.
The Deepwater Horizon explosion and subsequent oil slick in the Gulf of Mexico and the Fukushima Dai-ichi nuclear reactor meltdown and radiation leak in Japan may have been conveniently excused under the polite euphemism of “accident” by the companies responsible — and the media that kowtows to them — but it turns out the incidents were entirely foreseeable, cost assessed, and cynically calculated as a risk worth taking by those who care more about the bottom line than they do about the health of our planet and/or human life.
But before Deepwater Horizon, the company in part responsible for the ultra-deepwater blowout, BP, was also to-the-neck deep in an earlier record-breaking oil spill in Prince William Sound, Alaska. Palast had spent some quality time on the scene there doing what he does best, uncovering shit, but this time the shit got the better of him. Burnt out and disillusioned by his investigations into the Exxon Valdez “accident” (despite the name on the tanker, there were many fingers, including BP’s big fat one, in that poop pie), and our press and lawmakers apathetic (at best) response when confronted by the truth, he sought out pastures new.
Palast turned to England and The Guardian newspaper in the hopes of finding a culture that still had some semblance of a sense of justice and an outlet that vaguely understood the meaning of journalistic integrity. As this except from Vultures’ Picnic reveals, Palast soon found himself knee deep in some excrement partly of his own making, with his pants literally and metaphorically down by his ankles…
Vultures’ Picnic: We Figured Out Who Murdered Jake
Now, if this were a movie, you would hear the audience screaming, DON’T TAKE THE KEY! DON’T GO UP THOSE STAIRS!
The reporter part of my brain was screaming THIS SMELLS BAD, but I couldn’t hear a thing because, while I was out for the story, the memory of Ms. Jamaica’s hand in my pocket had drained the blood from my cerebellum.
So I took the key she left for me at the desk with the message to meet her up in her room. I went up the stairs. Knock-knock. No answer.
DON’T OPEN THAT DOOR!
I opened the door.
FOR GOD’S SAKE, DON’T TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES!
I took off my clothes. I needed to change my shirt and pants for the New Statesman party, though if she walked in, hey, we could start the party early.
The door opened. I smiled . . . at the desk clerk and Ms. Jamaica’s husband.
Husband! This bitch has a HUSBAND? The poor pudgy schmuck had a face like the map of Liverpool, lost and pathetic and pugnacious at the same time.
The clerk, turning red, stuttered, “I explained the circumstance, sir. . . .” But I got the impression from the husband’s look that this wasn’t the first time Ms. Jamaica had handed some guy her hotel room key.
Thank god the Lord told me to pull up the pants a moment before the door opened. I babbled. ”How’s the vote count looking for our gal?” She was running for the Labour Party’s leadership council, the hand-picked candidate of the Prince of Darkness. To get the shit on the Prince was the reason I went “undercover” (so to speak).
This was not a nice moment. I fell all over my own words. ”Been trying to, to, trying to call her. Guess I’ll meet up — say, are you coming? — catch up with her at the New Statesman ‘do.’ Guess I’ll get going.”
Our Fiction Friday serialized novel, The Killswitch Review, is a futuristic murder mystery with killer sociopolitical commentary (and some of the best sex scenes we’ve ever read!). Written by bestselling sci-fi author Steven-Elliot Altman (with Diane DeKelb-Rittenhouse), it offers a terrifying postmodern vision in the tradition of Blade Runner and Brave New World…
By the year 2156, stem cell therapy has triumphed over aging and disease, extending the human lifespan indefinitely. But only for those who have achieved Conscientious Citizen Status. To combat overpopulation, the U.S. has sealed its borders, instituted compulsory contraception and a strict one child per couple policy for those who are permitted to breed, and made technology-assisted suicide readily available. But in a world where the old can remain vital forever, America’s youth have little hope of prosperity.
Jason Haggerty is an investigator for Black Buttons Inc, the government agency responsible for dispensing personal handheld Kevorkian devices, which afford the only legal form of suicide. An armed “Killswitch” monitors and records a citizen’s final moments — up to the point where they press a button and peacefully die. Post-press review agents — “button collectors” — are dispatched to review and judge these final recordings to rule out foul play.
When three teens stage an illegal public suicide, Haggerty suspects their deaths may have been murders. Now his race is on to uncover proof and prevent a nationwide epidemic of copycat suicides. Trouble is, for the first time in history, an entire generation might just decide they’re better off dead.
(Catch up with the previous installments of Killswitch – see links below – then continue reading after the jump…)
“When you keep failing at things like I have, nobody knows you’re reinventing…”
– Dito Montiel
I first learned about Dito Montiel when his first film, A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints came out. It was notable for a cast including Robert Downey Jr., Shia Labeouf and Channing Tatum before they broke out, and Rosario Dawson who was already a star. Based on Montiel’s own book about growing up in and leaving New York, it introduced Montiel’s voice to Hollywood, particularly in dialogue that’s more like real people who have trouble articulating, rather than polished Hollywood screenplay.
His next movie was the studio action movie Fighting, also starring Tatum as an underground street fighter. Now that I knew who Montiel was, I stopped when I saw a Dito Montiel CD in a bin at the massive used record store Amoeba. The album had sophisticated music, layering different instruments with harmony and telling stories about, again, growing up. Montiel is also a painter. Tatum again stars in Montiel’s third film, The Son of No One. He plays a cop who gets assigned to the precinct of the housing project where he grew up. Tracy Morgan plays a stark, dramatic role as his childhood friend, now in rough shape from a traumatic childhood of abuse. Al Pacino plays police chief with ties to the old case.
Montiel is now a West Coaster like me. This is the third film I’ve had the opportunity to interview him for. Despite the serious subjects of his films and the raw style in which he portrays them, he always seems like lovable friendly guy. He even got a bit shy when I started asking about his music this time.
Our Fiction Friday serialized novel, The Killswitch Review, is a futuristic murder mystery with killer sociopolitical commentary (and some of the best sex scenes we’ve ever read!). Written by bestselling sci-fi author Steven-Elliot Altman (with Diane DeKelb-Rittenhouse), it offers a terrifying postmodern vision in the tradition of Blade Runner and Brave New World…
By the year 2156, stem cell therapy has triumphed over aging and disease, extending the human lifespan indefinitely. But only for those who have achieved Conscientious Citizen Status. To combat overpopulation, the U.S. has sealed its borders, instituted compulsory contraception and a strict one child per couple policy for those who are permitted to breed, and made technology-assisted suicide readily available. But in a world where the old can remain vital forever, America’s youth have little hope of prosperity.
Jason Haggerty is an investigator for Black Buttons Inc, the government agency responsible for dispensing personal handheld Kevorkian devices, which afford the only legal form of suicide. An armed “Killswitch” monitors and records a citizen’s final moments — up to the point where they press a button and peacefully die. Post-press review agents — “button collectors” — are dispatched to review and judge these final recordings to rule out foul play.
When three teens stage an illegal public suicide, Haggerty suspects their deaths may have been murders. Now his race is on to uncover proof and prevent a nationwide epidemic of copycat suicides. Trouble is, for the first time in history, an entire generation might just decide they’re better off dead.
(Catch up with the previous installments of Killswitch – see links below – then continue reading after the jump…)
[Above: Amanda Palmer performing Science Fiction/Double Feature (from The Rocky Horror Picture Show) on Craig Ferguson (10/31) with Moby, Stephin Merritt (The Magnetic Fields) and Neil Gaiman.]
The unlikely, but delightful newly wed Gaiman-Palmer duo hit the Wilshire Ebell Theatre in Los Angeles on Halloween night kicking off what will be a five-city West Coast mini-tour, which will stop off in San Francisco (11/4), Vancouver (11/6), Portland (11/8) and Seattle (11/9).
On the heels of performing with Moby and Stephen Merritt, along with an admittedly “uncomfortable” Gaiman on keyboards, on The Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson earlier that day, the twosome were introduced at the Ebell by rad chick comic Margaret Cho (who likened her life-long affection for rice-paper wrapped white bunny candies to her fondness for uncircumcised penises). Taking the stage in black and white wedding-esque attire Amanda and Neil began a rowdy costume contest. Audience members, hand-selected by Cho, took to the stage and accepted varying levels of applause, which determined the ultimate winner: a gay male couple dressed as twin-rabbits. Creepy masks. The prize? Signed merch and a rather random bottle of balsamic purloined from a Craig Ferguson hospitality basket.
The British scary story writer and Dresden Dolls founder and lead-singer met while collaborating on Palmer’s macabre art/photo book Who Killed Amanda Palmer– a collection of photographs of a dead-Palmer – taken by Palmer, over a period of 14 years. Gaiman explains how this undertaking brought them together. Read, also, his latest plight: to help artists create wills for their literary estates.
A charmingly disorganized night filled with on-stage, off-mic banter, impromptu song and reading plans, and even a cue-card Q&A of previously scribbled audience questions proved utterly lavish in this overly-synchronized Lady Gaga lights/Chris Brown firework world of perfectly framed modernity. Not to mention, the love between these two is palpable. (They pecked between songs, and when Gaiman forgot his lyric sheet, Palmer hurriedly scribbled lines on a ripped piece of paper with Sharpie, handed it to him and ran back to her piano. A gesture which prompted Gaiman to proclaim aloud: “I love her.”)
NYC-native Palmer sang a cover of “Science Fiction/Double Feature” from The Rocky Horror Picture Show along with originals “Runs in the Family,” “Judy Blume,” and latest Twitter-fan-aided ode to 4-stringed, anti-Fascist Machine-killing machine, her I.O.C., “Ukulele Anthem.” The 35-year old outspoken bisexual even sang “Satellite of Love” for the nearing birthday-boy (Neil turns 50 on November 10th), and the couple did a tongue-in-cheek duet of the standard “Makin’ Whoopee.” Neil read a few poems and a Halloween story he wrote for The New York Times, as well as a silly torch song he’d penned lyrics for (“I Google You“) about heartbreak and computers replacing the ‘cigarettes and bar-fly’ mentality that pervaded society for so long. Charming Australian duo The Jane Austen Argument opened.
The tour is being recorded thanks to fan funding from a Kickstarter campaign, which surpassed its $20,000 goal by $113,000+. In fact, much of the connection Palmer has with her fans stems from her DIY, grass-roots use of technology: blogging, free music sites, Twitter. There, she communicates and even beckons help from them (like during her “ReBellyon” – a record company dispute with Roadrunner Records which was sparked when they edited a belly shot out of a music video because they felt she looked “fat”).
A standing ovation for the two geek and goth faves, was followed by a chaotic merch signing session. Trying to organize the ridiculously large throng that was packed into the relatively small foyer, Palmer stood on a table, barefoot, as she attempted to figure out how the hell she and her husband were going to sign stuff for the mass of fans before the theatre’s 11.30 PM curfew.
Post-feminist sex and sensuality expert Darrah de jour is a freelance journalist who lives in LA with her dog Oscar Wilde. Her writing has appeared in
Marie Claire, Esquire and W. In her Red, White and Femme: Strapped With A Brain – And A Vagina columns for SuicideGirls, Darrah will be taking a fresh look at females in America. Visit her blog at Darrahdejour.com/srblog and find her on Facebook.
Our Fiction Friday serialized novel, The Killswitch Review, is a futuristic murder mystery with killer sociopolitical commentary (and some of the best sex scenes we’ve ever read!). Written by bestselling sci-fi author Steven-Elliot Altman (with Diane DeKelb-Rittenhouse), it offers a terrifying postmodern vision in the tradition of Blade Runner and Brave New World…
By the year 2156, stem cell therapy has triumphed over aging and disease, extending the human lifespan indefinitely. But only for those who have achieved Conscientious Citizen Status. To combat overpopulation, the U.S. has sealed its borders, instituted compulsory contraception and a strict one child per couple policy for those who are permitted to breed, and made technology-assisted suicide readily available. But in a world where the old can remain vital forever, America’s youth have little hope of prosperity.
Jason Haggerty is an investigator for Black Buttons Inc, the government agency responsible for dispensing personal handheld Kevorkian devices, which afford the only legal form of suicide. An armed “Killswitch” monitors and records a citizen’s final moments — up to the point where they press a button and peacefully die. Post-press review agents — “button collectors” — are dispatched to review and judge these final recordings to rule out foul play.
When three teens stage an illegal public suicide, Haggerty suspects their deaths may have been murders. Now his race is on to uncover proof and prevent a nationwide epidemic of copycat suicides. Trouble is, for the first time in history, an entire generation might just decide they’re better off dead.
(Catch up with the previous installments of Killswitch – see links below – then continue reading after the jump…)
