Harvey Weinstein.

There; I said wrote it. Why do I feel like I need to douse my keyboard with isopropyl?

 

 

 

 

 

None of the details which have so far emerged, from the sordid to the pedestrian, re the decades long, Harvey Weinstein-the-acclaimed-Hollywood-producer-is–a–sexually-predacious-pig-which-was-an-open-secret scandal, came as a surprise to moiself. Yet another reason for a cleansing of some sort.

And then, Of All People ®, Woody Allen weighs in. Did someone stick a microphone in the shape of an uzi in his face and demand his opinion – because why in the name of all that is neurotic would he otherwise feel that the world was interested in his commentary?

And BTW…

 

PSA

 

All You People Out There ® , from the person-on-the-street to y’all hipster celebrities: when someone asks you a question/solicits your opinion on such a sensitive topic – on anything, for that matter, you don’t have to answer. If, for whatever reason, you feel you must speak, you can always say some version of no comment/I am not privy to the situation/I don’t know. You can also – surprise! – simply keep your mouth shut and say nothing at all. Try it.

Thank you. This has been a public service announcement.

Yet again, I digress.

Allen’s witch-hunt remarks and subsequent half-hearted attempts at “clarification” were worth their WTF?!?!?! clueless condescension, if only that they helped prompt a wonderful writer, NY Times columnist Lindy West, to incisively and wittily (witchily?) articulate what a bazillion of us, including the beside-myself moiself, were thinking:  [1]

“…the cultural malfunction that allows Allen to feel comfortable issuing that statement is the same malfunction that gave us Allen and Weinstein in the first place: the smothering, delusional, galactic entitlement of powerful men.
When Allen and other men warn of ‘a witch hunt atmosphere, a Salem atmosphere’ what they mean is an atmosphere in which they’re expected to comport themselves with the care, consideration and fear of consequences that the rest of us call basic professionalism and respect for shared humanity.


(Read the whole article – it’s not long  here:
Yes, This Is a Witch Hunt. I’m a Witch and I’m Hunting You. NY Times, 10-17-17)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department of Once Again You Might Want To Pretend
That This Is A Graceful Segue To A Totally Different Topic

 

The louder he talked of his honor, the faster we counted our spoons.
(Ralph Waldo Emerson, US essayist & poet (1803 – 1882))

 

Ah, the pitiable, self-important affectations  illuminating moments which comprise the Literary Life ® of the flavor of the month New Local Author ® .

When I was writing for publication, the work itself I (mostly) loved. I was never comfortable – read: loathed –  doing that which authors (are told they) must not only do but crave: the self-promotion, and most specifically, the interview wherein you talk as much (or more) about yourself as your writing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And many are the times I have praaaaaaaaaaaaaaaised de Lawd [2] for that discomfort, including those rare occasions when I have (almost always unintentionally) spent more than a gnat’s eyeblink’s worth of time reading or listening to a fiction author interview.  I tend to avoid such articles, as they inevitably trigger my pretension gag reflex…for some reason, this recent one in the Sunday Oregonian  [3] caught my eye. [4]

It was an interview with a Portland author – a journalist who recently published her second novel and was (apparently) asked about making the transition from writing nonfiction to fiction. The author described how she had come to look at her journalist self:

“…’brave and opinionated, but also lacking compassion for her subjects. So I went off into the wilderness, so to speak. I left journalism and became a licensed investigator, helping others.’ “

Then, when she started writing fiction, her opinion about herself changed:

“Everything I learned, all the humility…”

 

 

 

 

 

Excuse me, I know this is difficult to read, but the quote continues.

“Everything I learned, all the humility, the compassion that was gifted to me by the work, my joy in the poetry of life, came rushing out.”

Uh huh.

One writer to another: you might want to reconsider your usage of that h-word.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

Don’t be humble. You’re not that great.
(Golda Meir, b. 1898 d. 1978, former Israeli Prime Minister)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

May you be smart enough to never misuse the witch hunt metaphor;
May you have access to a hygienic toilet facilities should
your joy in the poetry of life come rushing out;
May you enjoy fantasizing about how Golda Meir would have handled
creeps like Harvey Weinstein and Woody Allen;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

 

[1] But were too angry to express without using an excess of potty language.

[2] Or the atheist equivalent of such.

[3] The print edition, how quaint.

[4] And then just as quickly turned my stomach.