And, yes: I published this revised edition. I edited it. I published it. It belongs to ME. No agent, no publishing house. Why? Because if no one’s gonna make money on my books, I’d rather it be me.
If you're interested in what I wrote about the Pink Slime kerfuffle as it unfolded:
Here’s something that drives me nuts: Why in the FUCK is anyone talking about manufacturing and coal mining? Seriously?
In the age of cyber security and cyber warfare, the dangers are so infinite, so hard to track and destroy, so multiple and complicated, that dictatorship makes a weird kind of sense.
The Upper East Side of NYC teems with Trump Types. They’re everywhere you look. Every block is awash with Ivana Trumps teetering their way in and out of cabs. Clones of Eric and Don Jr. abound. (They enjoy walking three abreast on the sidewalk and yes, you get out of their way, not vice versa.)
He calls it a renaissance, but we Americans have had many such moments in our history, most of them rooted in Christian politics. (Another topic itching for an historian's take.)
But . . . my deep brain kept niggling at me. Something about the project was . . . off. I didn't know what. But something.
And one day in lateish August, my brain figured it out. Huzzah!
He veers from complete confusion to complete control over his audience. As I watched, I assumed that someone in the Inner Circle urged him to hold this press interaction. Turns out (according to the nasty fake media) that it was his idea. Which shows that he's smarter than most of his inner circle. Smartest thing he could have done.
Not all podcasts are equal, by the way. When I first dived into that media arena, I encountered some serious dogs. Mangy mutts. I lasted less than ten minutes before I clicked "off."