#oneaday Day 150: Don’t fuck it up

Dear America,

We, the Rest of the World, are given to understand that you are holding an election for your next president tomorrow. To all of us, looking from the outside, the choice appears to be between a bright orange cunt who has done more than enough things to be locked up in prison for a very long time, and a likable woman who, along with her running mate, has not only done a surprising amount to reach out to “the young”, typically some of the most apathetic when it comes to politics, but has also relentlessly — and completely correctly — highlighted her opponent’s shortcomings.

This would, to us, appear to be an easy choice. We know that both candidates have things that you’re not altogether happy about for one reason or another. We know that for certain groups of you living in the States, either choice is a difficult or uncomfortable one. But come on now. Seriously. If you vote for the orange cunt, you are an idiot. There is no other way to put it. You are a fucking idiot.

I’m not going to go off on one like some people do online and start talking about “Nazis” and “fascism”, but the orange cunt is a cunt. The orange cunt is a criminal. The orange cunt has already proven that he makes a hash of things if given even the slightest hint of power, so how it even got to a situation where the choice is between the orange cunt and literally anyone else is completely beyond the ken of those of us observing from the outside. This race should not be happening. The orange cunt should not even be in consideration for the big chair in one of the most powerful nations on the planet.

And yet, somehow, he is. Which is what worries me. Because if the orange cunt can get into a position where he’s an election away from sitting in that big chair — for the second time, let’s not forget — it concerns me that he might actually win. And, besides that making your entire democratic process a laughingstock — not that ours is much better, mind — it looks like that is going to be outright dangerous for a lot of people.

Of course, it’s entirely possible that the orange cunt losing will be dangerous, too. We’ve seen on multiple occasions that he doesn’t take losing very well at all. We’re just all consoling ourselves with the fact that if he does lose, there is hopefully enough out there now to lock him away where he can do no further harm. Although we very much doubt that this will actually happen. He’s rich, you see, and rich people don’t go to jail. “If the penalty for a crime is a fine, that law only exists for the lower classes,” and all that.

So come on, America. There is very obviously only one sensible choice here, but we, collectively, don’t quite have 100% faith that you’ll make that sensible choice as a nation. You have voted the orange cunt into office once before, after all.

We’d very much like to be wrong. And so, in the words of Ru Paul: good luck, and don’t fuck it up.


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2486: One and Only Post About America’s New President

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America elected Donald Trump, noted toupee wearer and generally unpleasant person, as their President. This is either terrifying or highly amusing — or perhaps a combination of both.

I have no love for Donald Trump. He’s shown himself repeatedly in both social and popular media to be a bigoted twat who frequently speaks without thinking, promising entirely unreasonable things and making objectionable comments about all manner of groups of people. He is not, in short, who I would have voted for as President, were I an American.

I feel that it’s worth contemplating exactly why so many people voted Trump, though, much as it was also worth contemplating why so many people voted Brexit, and why so many people voted for the Conservatives to govern the UK after seemingly widespread dissatisfaction with their previous work and particularly their former leader David Cameron.

This article from The Guardian offers an explanation.

Clinton’s supporters among the media didn’t help much, either. It always struck me as strange that such an unpopular candidate enjoyed such robust and unanimous endorsements from the editorial and opinion pages of the nation’s papers, but it was the quality of the media’s enthusiasm that really harmed her. With the same arguments repeated over and over, two or three times a day, with nuance and contrary views all deleted, the act of opening the newspaper started to feel like tuning in to a Cold War propaganda station. Here’s what it consisted of:

  • Hillary was virtually without flaws. She was a peerless leader clad in saintly white, a super-lawyer, a caring benefactor of women and children, a warrior for social justice.
  • Her scandals weren’t real.
  • The economy was doing well / America was already great.
  • Working-class people weren’t supporting Trump.
  • And if they were, it was only because they were botched humans. Racism was the only conceivable reason for lining up with the Republican candidate.

How did the journalists’ crusade fail? The fourth estate came together in an unprecedented professional consensus. They chose insulting the other side over trying to understand what motivated them. They transformed opinion writing into a vehicle for high moral boasting. What could possibly have gone wrong with such an approach?

In short, instead of allowing people to make their own mind up and encouraging them to think critically about both candidates — or the pros and cons of Brexit vs Remain, since a very similar situation unfolded with that vote — the mainstream media attempted to rely on its power over society by clearly marking one option as the “wrong” one. Trump is evil because x,y,z, Brexit is bad because a,b,c. It didn’t stop there, though. It then repeatedly listed all the reasons why you would be a terrible person for voting for the “wrong” option along with all the reasons you would be an absolute paragon of virtue, ally to the oppressed and generally wonderful human being if you voted for the “correct” option.

It may be that if you critically analysed the positions of both options, you still thought that Hillary was the right choice, and if so, great. If it had been left at that, she could have probably won. But people need to reach that conclusion naturally rather than being shepherded away by barbed wire, locked gates and signs saying “DANGER! TRUMP AHEAD”. People, particularly in the age of the Internet, are curious beasts, and if you tell them they can’t or shouldn’t have something, that will only make it more attractive to a particular type of individual. “Why is the media so absolutely adamant that I shouldn’t choose this option?” they’ll think. “What are they trying to hide?”

We are in an age of social media, where buzz and influence can be created artificially to a certain extent, but more commonly it is an organic, natural process that occurs seemingly randomly and at the bitter, twisted and above all unpredictable whims of the great Internet Gods. In this age, where everyone likes to feel like Their Opinion Matters — and where we’re repeatedly told that Our Opinion Matters, even when it clearly doesn’t — people really don’t like to be told what to think. People really don’t like to be talked down to or told that a conclusion they may or may not have reached themselves is “wrong”, or that there is only one “correct” option, regardless of whether or not you personally actually think it’s right for you if you take a closer look at it.

This kind of attitude — a “journalists’ crusade”, as Frank puts it in his Guardian piece — leads to people feeling bitterness and resentment towards the media. We’re already in a place where general trust in the media is at something of a low, so it wouldn’t have taken much to push people into “spiteful” mode, where they deliberately go against whatever the media is telling them to do simply to send a very clear message: we want to make up our own minds, and fuck you for trying to tell us we’re awful people for doing so. There is, of course, a certain irony in doing this causing everyone who feels that way to vote the same way, but when you only really have two practical options, there are limits to how effectively you can protest.

“[Hillary Clinton]  was exactly the wrong candidate for this angry, populist moment,” writes Frank. “An insider when the country was screaming for an outsider. A technocrat who offered fine-tuning when the country wanted to take a sledgehammer to the machine.”

Well, I’d say that sledgehammer has well and truly been taken to that machine, and a clear message has been sent. I’m not excusing the result or saying that it was the “right one”, just saying what has seemingly happened from an outsider’s perspective. It is pretty much exactly the same reason there is so much resistance to perceived “political correctness” — people do not like to be told how to think or feel.

It remains to be seen whether or not this election result is ultimately “good” or “bad” for America — and the world — as a whole, but as a friend on Facebook noted, “I look forward to four years of people learning how little power the President has.”

#oneaday Day 730: Foreigner

We fly home from the US of A tomorrrow. It’s been a good trip but over far too quickly for my liking. Still, it will be nice to sleep in our own bed again, as the sofa bed we’ve been kipping on all week isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, to say the least. That and the idiosyncratic heating in the room we’re in having two settings: “hot as the sun” and “freeze your balls off”.

As much as I like America, though, it will be nice to get back to “normality”, I guess. Haven’t quite adjusted to the time change while we’ve been here, so going back home is going to be interesting. Either I’ll be able to sleep normally, or I’ll have to endure the mild annoyance of a completely screwed up body clock again. We’ll have to wait and see.

Mostly, though, it will be nice to feel like I’m in my “home” country again. America is superficially similar to the UK in many ways (only a bit bigger) but every so often you’re reminded that you are a foreigner in a strange land.

Try to find prepacked sandwiches in a supermarket, for example. Or decipher a menu at a Mexican restaurant. Or remember what the different types of eggs you can order at breakfast are (hint: it’s not “boiled, fried, poached and scrambled”. Or have a discussion about a kid’s grade point average. Or… Well, I could go on. But I won’t.

It’s actually pretty interesting to see quite how different two cultures which speak the same language can end up. You say “tomato”, I say “why are you shouting out names of fruit?”, that sort of thing.

I’m sure you get used to it after a while living here. Perhaps one day I’ll have the opportunity to get used to it for myself.

Dream on, eh?

#oneaday Day 728: Lag

I’ve had a somewhat inconsistent experience with jetlag on this particular trip. The other night when I was playing Ascension until 1AM, I was absolutely fine. Yet tonight, it’s 9.30PM and I’m knackered. Doubtless I will sleep shortly and awaken at approximately 4AM, when it will be freezing cold. At least it will give me some time to get some work done ahead of visiting the fine Mr Whittington tomorrow.

Part of this evening’s tiredness can probably be attributed to a fairly busy day, however. We took a trip into San Francisco, rode the cable cars and walked a whole lot. I discovered what the hell “taffy” is (chewy, and available in a huge variety of flavours) and enjoyed some calamari and fries by the Bay.

As with so many trips away, time is passing far too quickly. There’s only so much you can do in a week — particularly if you have a bit of work to do along the way — and it’s easy to get to the end wishing you’d done more. Ideally we’d have had the chance to stay over here a bit longer, but that’s not really practical at the moment, sadly.

On that note, I feel I’m going to have to bid you all farewell as I can barely keep my eyes open. Time to sleep early, and wake up at stupid o’clock in the morning; an inversion of my usual habits back home!

#oneaday Day 726: Coming Clean

Okay, I lied. Last night I didn’t pull an allnighter playing Ascension. I played Ascension until 1AM with my good buddy Chris Whittington, and then wrote last night’s blog post. The reason it appeared to post at something like 6AM UK time is because I am actually in California right now, but was unable to say so.

Why? Because today was my brother’s surprise 40th birthday party, which managed to remain a secret for months, even right up to today. Good job, everyone. And happy birthday, John!

Now he knows I, the rest of my family and Andie are all here, though, I can comfortably and confidently say that yes, I am indeed in California enjoying weather that is quite a bit better than what I understand is rather chilly back home.

I like America a lot. Well, the parts of it I’ve been to, anyway. I’m aware it’s a rather big place with plenty of grotty bits as well as pleasant places. But certainly I’ve never had a time when I felt like “oh no, not America AGAIN.”

California in particular is a beautiful part of the world, featuring everything from woods to beaches to mist-capped mountains. I would very happily live here given the opportunity (namely, an offer of employment that would sort out my work visa for me) and probably wouldn’t return to the UK in a hurry if that happened. Yes, it’d be hard leaving friends and parts of my life behind in the UK, but I feel the good things that would come from living in the States would outweigh those negative things. Besides, the Internet makes staying in touch with people easier than ever, and given enough money, you can always hop on a flight across the pond to visit people.

This is all a moot point, of course, because no-one has, as yet, offered me permanent employment in the United States and offered to sort out a work visa for me. So far as I can make out, this is a complicated procedure designed to make it as difficult as possible for people to emigrate to the United States, dependent on a cyclic series of requirements that all seem to contradict each other, or at least cancel each other out. For example, the last time I looked into a potential international move, it seemed that I wouldn’t be able to get a visa without a job offer, but I wouldn’t be able to get a job offer without a visa.

Obviously there are ways around this, otherwise there would be no (legal) immigrants in the U.S. But the whole process seems like a huge challenge, and like something of an impossible dream right now.

Ah well. I shall just have to enjoy the trips across the pond when they do happen. I’ve certainly enjoyed this one so far.

#oneaday, Day 328: Hi, America

Hai, America. You know, I’ve been looking at you for a while and I thought, you know, you’re kinda cool and I wondered if you’d, you know, like to hang out some time, maybe, and get a coffee or something. Cause, you know, I, like, think you’re pretty cool. And stuff.

I’m serious! I like your food. You sure know how to do a good breakfast. It’s a breakfast worth getting up for in the morning. Sure, a typically British bacon sandwich is all very well and good, but there’s little that can beat a stack of pancakes, some waffles, some French toast or indeed the wonder that is Eggs Benedict, which I discovered the other morning after spending the night with you.

You know what else? And this is going to sound a bit weird, ’cause I wonder how many people compliment you on this, but I think your bread is awesome. Sure, you can get fancy-pants bread from fancy-pants bakeries in the UK, but your everyday sort of bread, the sort that you make everyday toast and sandwiches from? That’s functional at best, dry and sawdusty at worst. You make me appreciate a good sandwich. And I like sandwiches at the best of times. But you make me appreciate them more. I like that.

You also seem to have the art of the takeaway down to a fine art. We Britons of Britainland believe that we are the masters of the Chinese and Indian takeaways, but I can honestly say that I think yours are better. Your Indian curries are creamy and smooth and delicious, and your Chinese meals are full of flavour and they come in those awesome little cardboard boxes with the lids that are a good shape to eat the food straight from with a pair of chopsticks, instead of those foil trays with the cardboard lids that are always way too hot to put on your lap.

Since we’re being honest here, I don’t like how you use the word “an” before words that start with an “h”, which isn’t a vowel, and you spell “aluminium” wrong, not to mention your seeming aversion to the letters “u” and “s”. Also, as our beloved comedian Eddie Izzard says, “herb” is pronounced “herb” because “there’s a fucking ‘H’ in it”.

But you know what? I don’t care. I can accept your flaws because they make you more colorful (see what I did there?) and interesting. I can accept that you use the word “momentarily” different to the way I do, and I think it’s charming. All your sweet, nutty bread and pancakes and Hollandaise sauce on eggs and love of good coffee and ability to put free Wi-Fi hotspots in places other than Starbucks just make me think that, you know, you’re pretty sort of kind of cool and I think it’d be, you know, nice if we could, um, spend a bit more time together. If you know what I mean.