The scariest part of the debate last night wasn’t anything that anyone said.

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Four years ago I posted a picture of Mitt Romney giving a very dark, dirty and angry look at Candy Crowley during the last debate. Mitt Romney, rich white Mormon, was not used to having someone talk back to him. Especially a woman.  (there was an equally disturbing picture of one of Mitt’s sons in the audience looking like a demon about to make something burst into flame. the nightmare-inspiring picture became its own meme.)

Rich white guys like that are used to being able to say anything they want and not have someone else tell them they’re wrong.

Last night it was worse. Donald Trump, a rich white guy, isn’t used to having anyone pin him down or tell him to answer a question or to stop talking. Last night he had two women and a gay man doing just that and he was visibly shaken. Angry. But in a dark way.

By the end of the debate he had threatened to have Hillary put in jail, wasted about a minute whining about his time limit, grabbed a chair to hump it in some sort of chest-beating dominance thing, and was finally reduced to ominously creeping behind Hillary in a very misguided attempt to psyche her out. He failed.

This is the look of man who is seething with fury at a stronger woman who isn’t willing to be subordinate to him or anyone. This is a dark anger that we haven’t seen even from him before.

This should scare us even more than anything else because this is the look of someone who won’t accept not getting his way. This is the look of someone who’ll start a nuclear war over a trade dispute. We can’t let this man near the White House.

Dear, Donald Trump

doubt-meryl-streep_lDear Donald Trump,

Hillary has been preparing for this exact attack for literally 20 years, you silly boy.

She is ready for you.

luv, Jasun.

Shitzu Puppy playing with Grown Man is WAY too cute for words.

This isn’t my eldest dog Halford but he was just this cute. Shitzus live longer than a lot of dogs. My last one Dudley lived to 19. Halford will turn 14 this year and he’s still full of energy and you’d think he was only about 5 or 6. Hug your dog. And if you don’t have a dog. Go to the shelter and get a dog.

Paul Kantner dies at 74.

When I was 4 I started buying 7″ singles. The first ones I ever got were “Crosstown Traffic,” “I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing” and Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit.” Now.. being 4, I didn’t really understand the lyrical content. I thought Crosstown Traffic was about driving around town in a car. It wasn’t until I was a teenager when I realized it was about a very sexually active woman. White Rabbit, I thought, was about Alice In Wonderland. I loved how it was dark and scary and mysterious. It had a sort of Tango rhythm to it and I would do a sort of dark tango dance with my stuff rabbit named Bunny. Years later when I figured out it was about dropping acid, it made all of that seem so… innocent.

Anyway… Jefferson Airplane’s album Surrealistic Pillow is a brilliant piece of magic. Beautifully melding intricate rhythms, styles and different modes, pop melodies and gorgeous arrangements. I only knew the two hits from it when I was a kid. I didn’t hear the full album until I found a scratched up copy at a yard sale for 25¢ when I was about 15. If you haven’t heard it, it’s well worth the listen. You’ll understand why people miss the old Haight Ashbury so much.

Dear Tom Hardy, next time just say this…

 

Seems Tom Hardy got asked yet again about whether he’s gay or not. He was pissed and it showed. So he not only came off as a bit of a dick (and not his fault, honestly) but he missed an opportunity to put an end to the rumors. Instead of just answering the question, he made a big production about of pretending he didn’t understand the question.

The “what are you on about” part is silly. He knew exactly what the reporter was asking about.

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Here’s what he SHOULD have said.

“[gentle laugh] I’m never going to live that down, am I? OK.. so a few years ago I was talking about how I had played gay roles before because I’m an actor, and someone misunderstood that to mean I had had gay sex in my personal life. Partially my fault, I didn’t word it very well. I’m not desperate to clear my name or anything, but I don’t want people to think I’m closeted or openly gay and then think I’m a hypocrite being married with two kids… because… you know… I’m married with two kids. That said, we’ve already been over this many times and I’m not sure what else I can add to the conversation other than, No I’m not gay but if I was, you’d personally be maybe ¾ the way up the list below Brad Pitt but above Hugh Jackman because that guy is CRAZY.”

Day Drinking is SO much cooler when you call it “Going To Venice Beach.”

Sunday in LA. Too hot to go hiking or bike riding, too nice out to hide inside. Venice Beach is a very odd amalgam of street performers, street artists, hippies, body builders, skate boarders, stoners, tourists and locals who come to see the show. You’ll see some cool art, you’ll see some angry political radicals ranting about… things. You’ll see local kids playing basketball and people with huge pet snakes charging you a dollar to have your picture taken with it wrapped around your neck.

There are some disturbing things… homeless people asking well-dressed tourists for change, people selling exhausted-looking puppies. It’s never really clear if this is just people whose dog has had unwanted puppies or if this is a back-alley puppy mill making puppies and selling them for $25 to total strangers.

But there are also some wonderful things you’ll see. Mostly just a very fun sense of community that prevails even in an area that’s so diverse and insane. It’s one of my favorite parts of the city.