The End of Social Media

This morning, as I was about to look for a job on LinkedIn, I responded to someone’s post about how useless job postings in general (and LinkedIn’s in particular) were for finding a job. (I believe this is the definition of either irony or insanity.) The poster said that, based on his conversations, most people found their jobs either through networking or because they knew someone in the company. I commented that, indeed (no pun), only 3% of jobs were found from job postings and that on my last job search I had responded to 1,700 job postings and only gotten five interviews. (I eventually wound up getting a job through a temp agency which I said was, I supposed, like knowing someone in the company.)

My feed was immediately filled by people telling their own LinkedIn horror stories (as well as numerous advertisements), but no posts from people I was actually connected to. Similarly, a few days ago, I asked someone a question on Instagram in response to a post this person made about a friend of hers in the film industry. Although this person never answered my question, I immediately started seeing dozens of posts from her.

Is this the great future that was promised to us by A.I.?

In both these instances (and in business in general) the idea seems to be, “How can we remove humans from the equation?” If there’s a job that a software (in this case, A.I.) can do “better,” let’s replace the human with the software.

Two more examples:

I recently joined both Threads and Bluesky after deleting my Twitter account (because Elon Musk was instrumental in electing Donald Trump, donating $250 million to his campaign, as well as suppressing anti-Trump tweets and promoting pro-Trump tweets). After a few weeks, I have 131 followers on Threads and 52 on Bluesky. On both platforms, I see posts from basically the same two people (who must do nothing but post all day), to the point where I’ve started deleting some of them.

I just use these two platforms to vent my frustration at the election of Trump/Republicans, but I’m just preaching to the converted. I’m not actually changing anyone’s mind. So what's the point?

The only reason I stayed on Twitter after Elon Musk bought it was to be a “voice of the opposition” and look how well that worked out.

The best of these platforms might be Facebook, perhaps because it’s based on people I actually know. (I compare these other platforms to a bunch of people screaming into a vacuum.) But even here, out of 1,793 “friends,” I only see posts from about two dozen. And on all these platforms, the “conversation” seems to be very one-sided. It just seems to be people promoting or selling something (to be fair, I’m guilty of that as well), but rarely engaging in actual conversation.

Maybe I should just rely on my website and blog. If people are interested, fine, if not, that’s fine too. But, of course, then the issue becomes how to get people to pay attention to your website or blog, hence social media.

It’s a vicious cycle.

Now excuse me while I post this on Facebook, Threads and Bluesky.

Eat Drink Laugh at Pangea, Saturday, December 21 at 9pm

I'm hosting a stand-up comedy show at Pangea on Saturday, December 21 at 9pm, $10 in advance ($15 at the door) plus $20 minimum. Advance tickets available here: https://cur8.com/23871/project/127527

I hope you'll join me and this great line-up of comedians.

See you there!

Paul

Queer

Queer is the most devastating gay love story I’ve seen since All of Us Strangers.

Based on the book by William S. Burroughs, Daniel Craig, in a role that’s diametrically opposed to his long run as James Bond, plays a gay, junkie writer (much like Burroughs himself) named William Lee, who seems to spend all his time in Mexico City chasing hustlers, drinking and shooting heroin. Then me meets a young man named Eugene Allerton (Drew Starkey), whose sexual orientation isn’t immediately apparent, and falls in love with him. The two then go on a journey to South America in search of ayahuasca, a drug that is supposed to aid in telepathy but seems to induce hallucinations. I don’t want to spoil the ending, but I’ll just say that you may be as heartbroken as you were at the end of Strangers.

I think director Luca Gaudagnino (Call Me by Your Name, A Bigger Splash) is the most interesting director working today. What I really love about this movie is the way it captures gay desire, with its camera lingering over Starkey’s body. It doesn’t shy away from gay sex (in fact, it’s quite erotic). Craig is still in great shape (despite the fact that he’s playing a junkie) and Starkey is also quite beautiful to look at.

Also featured in the film are Drew Droege (off-Broadway’s Bright Colors and Bold Patterns), as a stereotypical, effeminate lounge lizard and an unrecognizable Jason Schwartzman, who put on a ton of weight for his role as another bar fly.

While the movie is set in the 1950s, Guadagnino once again makes great use of music, including Nirvana and New Order.

There’s a hallucinogenic quality to Queer, as befits a movie about drug use, and you may find yourself saying “What the fuck just happened?” at times, but the pain of lost love will remain in the pit of your stomach long after you’ve left the theater.

A Letter to the New York Times

To the Editor:

Charles Michael Sitero’s letter ("Healing the Political Divide and Despair,” 10/11/24) is full of precisely the “presumption of moral high ground, smug and arrogant and judgmental sense of elitist entitlement, malicious hate, envy, name calling and abusive persecution through the use of the media” of which he accuses liberals.

When Florida is underwater because Trump has trashed climate protections, put a climate change denier in charge of the E.P.A. and given billions to the fossil fuel industry, I don’t want to hear a fucking word.

Paul Hallasy

New York, NY

Why I Left Twitter

It took me a week after the election, but I finally decided to delete my Twitter account. I’d been having second thoughts about Twitter since Elon Musk took over and, since the election, they’ve only gotten louder.

Twitter was always the least popular of my social media accounts and it’s only gotten more so. In just the last week, I’ve lost at least 16 followers and most of the followers I’d gained since Musk took over were, I’m assuming, fake accounts. (Women looking for sex from a gay man? Hello?)

Add to that the fact that it seems like Musk has been suppressing anti-Trump accounts and amplifying pro-Trump accounts.

In fact, now that Musk has succeeded in getting Trump elected, I wouldn’t be surprised if he sold Twitter (assuming anyone would be interested in buying it).

Then there’s my natural antipathy towards social media in general.

As a late boomer, I’ve always thought all social media was kind of bullshit. I distinctly remember my reaction when I first considered joining Facebook (which I only joined in order to promote my stand-up comedy shows). My reaction was, “You mean to tell me that adults are doing this?!!!” It all seemed so juvenile. (And I’m not sure how helpful it’s been in terms of putting asses in seats. It seems like personal connection and word of mouth is much more effective.)

But I eventually gave in.

Then, I was actually required to join Instagram by my real estate job and it was equally ineffective in helping my real estate career.

Another truism to consider: No one’s opinion has ever been changed by social media. Social media is designed to reinforce the opinions you already have. And it mainly thrives on just two emotions: fear and anger.

So all those New York Times articles I posted about how dangerous Trump was were for nothing. People don’t read newspapers anymore and, even if they did, they’d have to already be a Times subscriber to get past the paywall.

And I’m reluctant to join another social media platform like Threads because what would be the point? I feel like I’m just pissing in the wind.

But maybe it might be worth it as an experiment, just to see if one platform is any more useful than another.

At least I won’t be subjected to all the offensive ads on Twitter (most of which I blocked) and the even more offensive people (like Musk and Trump, both of whom I also blocked).

I didn’t think anyone could be more of a pathological narcissist than Trump, but in Elon Musk, who bought Twitter solely for his own self-aggrandizement, Trump may have finally met his match.

Protect Our Futures March

It was good to express my shock/outrage/sadness over the election results in the company of thousands of like-minded people. The high points for me were passing Trump International Hotel & Tower (where I shouted, “Fuck Trump!”) and News Corporation headquarters (where I shouted, “Fuck Fox News!").

I had an eerie, 1984/Handmaid’s Tale-like feeling as I saw the Fox News ticker reporting the damage Trump/Republicans have already inflicted or are planning to inflict.

And he hasn’t even taken office yet.

How to Survive the Coming Trumpocalypse

The next four years are going to be all about self-preservation. Here are some steps I’m taking (or have already taken) in order to preserve my sanity and suggest you take in order to preserve yours:

1. Contact your elected representatives. The first thing I did Wednesday morning was call my Congressman, Daniel Goldman, to express my shock/outrage/sadness over the election results and ask if there was anything I could do to help. Unfortunately, the young woman who answered the phone wasn’t very helpful (I don’t think they’re allowed to give political advice), but at least I made my feelings known. (Dan, if you're reading this, call me.)
2. Organize. I contacted the Women’s March. If you recall, they held the largest such gathering in history after Trump’s last election (I can’t believe I’m saying that), organizing marches across the country and around the world. I attended their “Election Reflection & Healing Justice Gathering” Zoom meeting last night. It was kind of hokey (although several attendees in the chat were eating it up), kind of like a guided meditation, but it was good to be in the presence of like-minded people. I was hoping for information on a New York City march (there is one in Washington, D.C. this Saturday, November 9), but none was forthcoming. There’s a “Mass Actions Organizing Call” Zoom meeting tomorrow (November 8) which I’m planning to attend, so I’ll see if that’s any better.
3. Apply for/renew your passport. I renewed mine this morning. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to move to another country (and I love New York City—I sometimes refer to it as the “Independent Republic of New York City”), but it’s good to have just in case of an emergency. This is all about empowerment.
4. Spend time with friends and/or family (assuming you’re still talking to them). I spent today, an unseasonably mild day, in the park with a friend of mine and it was a healing experience. (Again, like-minded people.) Nature/the outdoors can also be healing.
5. Limit your TV news diet. I’m severely limiting mine because I can’t stand to look at or listen to Donald Trump. If necessary, I’ll read the New York Times, but I’m limiting my exposure to PBS News Hour (which is great and unbiased, but may still expose me to Trump) and, more importantly, MSNBC (which is unabashedly partisan and only fuels my anger), both of which I used to watch avidly.
6. Limit or cut off your exposure to Trump voters. I know this one’s a little controversial (cf. Bill Maher and his "Kumbaya" sensibility). I’ve spent the last year sounding the alarm about Trump and trying to reason with the few Trump voters in my circle and look what happened: Most Americans voted for him anyway. If watching the January 6th insurrection and seeing/listening to all the things he said and did on the campaign trail (not to mention his four years in office) weren’t enough to convince you that he was unfit to be president (see my related post, “Hate Wins (Again)"), I’m not wasting my breath anymore. I’m done. You are hereby cut off. (If I still have friends who voted for Trump and they’re reading this, they’ll probably be too embarrassed to admit it.)
7. Self-care: Eat right. Exercise. Don’t smoke. Don’t drink. Don’t do drugs. Get plenty of rest. Doing these six things is good advice any time, but especially now.
8. Create. Write, act, sing, paint, etc. Artists are always at the forefront of social change (and usually the first to be punished under a dictatorship), so keep doing what you’re doing. (Easier said than done, considering my parenthetical statement.) I, for one, will not be silenced.
9. Limit your exposure to social media, especially Twitter. I’m debating whether or not to delete my Twitter account. Fortunately, I’m spared most of the right-wing hate and misinformation because of the “For You” feature, and some of it can be useful (I quoted a thread in my aforementioned post). But now that Trump has actually been elected, what’s the point? And I’m a little uncomfortable about contributing to anything that could benefit Elon Musk. Also: If I see a Trump supporter on any of my social media, I will block, unfollow or unfriend them.

If anyone has any other ideas, I’d be happy to hear them. And if I should mysteriously “disappear,” you know who to blame.

Hate Wins (Again)

I’m beyond angry. I’m having an existential crisis. I literally don’t know how to move forward.

I barely slept last night.

I remember four years ago, after President Biden won the last presidential election, people were dancing in the streets of New York City. Last night it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

This is about more than mere policy differences. While we can disagree on policy, what we are about to witness will be catastrophic. Trump already told us what he would do in his Project 2025 blueprint and he’s been telling us throughout the campaign. Deport millions of illegal immigrants (and perhaps some legal immigrants who merely “look” illegal). Destroy the climate. Ban abortion. Leave NATO. Kill Obamacare.

We’re already seeing the damage and he hasn’t even taken office yet. Two hurricanes in Florida in one week. Texas women dying because they can’t receive necessary healthcare.

Sure Trump voters will tell you they were motivated by “the economy” (despite the fact that the American economy is currently the envy of the world, according to no less than The Economist) and immigration (whose bipartisan bill Trump torpedoed), but I believe there was also an undercurrent of racism, misogyny and transphobia. Not to mention a cohort of young men who voted for Trump because they think he’s a “tough guy” and are resentful that women now outnumber men in colleges and universities and are making more money.

I can’t get past the fact that we all watched Trump try to overturn a free and fair election. That in itself should be disqualifying. Everything else is beside the point. And yet a majority of Americans still voted for him.

In spite of the hateful rhetoric we saw and heard at his Madison Square Garden rally and have seen and heard throughout his campaign, they still voted for him.

I blame Mitch McConnell, whose craven need to maintain a Republican majority in the Senate led him to not vote to impeach Trump when he had the chance, even after explicitly blaming Trump for January 6 on the floor of the Senate.

I blame Merrick Garland for dragging his feet in prosecuting Trump, because Democrats were worried about appearing “partisan,” whereas Trump and his fellow Republicans had no such qualms. Trump and his Republican sycophants stepped on every norm that had previously existed and, in some cases, actually broke the law.

There was a brief moment after January 6 when it seemed like saner heads might prevail, starting with McConnell’s speech on the Senate floor. But it ended when Kevin McCarthy, after similarly blaming Trump for January 6, went down to Mar a Lago to kiss Trump’s ring.

I’m done trying to reason with the Trump cultists. These people are immune to facts.

There was a thread by David Roberts on Twitter that I felt expressed my feelings perfectly (I’ve been debating whether or not I should stay on Twitter, which has become a cesspool of right-wing hate and misinformation since Elon Musk took over, but that’s a whole other conversation), so I’m reprinting it here in its entirety:

I'm glad I don't have to write an endorsement piece, because I really wouldn't know how to go about it. Ever since 2015, when Trump descended the escalator, I have had the same feeling, which I've never quite seen articulated, so I will briefly try:

It's basically this: Trump is so obviously, manifestly repugnant -- his words, his gestures, his behavior, his history -- that it strikes me like a tsunami. It's a kind of total, perfect, seamless repugnance that I've never witnessed before in my life. Which means ...

... pointing out some particular piece of the repugnance & arguing against it feels ... surreal, I guess. "He has regularly sexually assaulted women, almost certainly raped a few, and ... I think that's bad."

... if you think rape is bad, you will already oppose Trump. If you don't, what could I possibly say to reach you? I don't understand your moral universe, your basic precepts. We are different in a way so fundamental that I literally don't know how to speak to you.

It's the same with all of it. I could point to some obvious bit of repugnance -- "I think it's bad to cheat every small business you interact with." -- but ... it's obvious. You've surely seen it yourself. And it doesn't matter to you. So how is me pointing it out going to help?

You see what I'm getting at? I feel like there's nothing I can say about Trump that isn't obvious, that isn't well-understood public knowledge. If you still support him at this point, you clearly don't *care* about all that stuff. And if you don't care about all that stuff ...

... then ... what do you care about? How does your brain operate? What does morality mean to you? What language could possibly reach you? What could cause you to care? I genuinely don't know. It's like when you're trying to speak w/ someone who doesn't speak your language ...

... and you respond by just repeating yourself, louder. "HE'S A CAREER CRIMINAL WITH 34 FELONY CONVICTIONS." It's pointless. They *heard* you. They just don't understand, don't care. You're assuming they share the premise "criminal rapists are bad," but they don't.

And so, if you're that far apart -- if you do not share basic, fundamental moral precepts, if you live in different moral universes -- how can you communicate? Literally, what do you say?

So I could write the 5000th piece once again listing Trump's sins -- "He's explicitly said he loves dictators & wants to be one!" -- but they've all been listed a million times. His supporters don't care. And I wouldn't know what to write to make someone care or be decent.

That's where I've been ever since 2015: feeling like language is pointless. Like the reality I inhabit is so far from the reality Trump supporters inhabit that discourse between us is impossible, or at least futile. The divide is unbridgeable.

This is a genuinely depressing & unsettling place to be for someone whose whole *life* is words, who was raised & trained to believe that language can, with care & attention, bridge any gap, excavate & find commonalities among any people, no matter how far apart.

Anyway. I just wanted to get that feeling down. Maybe some of you feel it too. In the meantime, my grand manifesto against electing Trump amounts to this: [points at Trump]

Comics Love Kamala 3 NEXT SATURDAY (11/2) at 9pm at Pangea

I'm doing it again next NEXT SATURDAY (11/2). Because this is the most important election of our lifetime and every vote counts.

Tickets are $10 in advance ($15 at the door) plus a $20 minimum. Advance tickets are available here: https://cur8.com/23871/project/126690

I hope you'll join me and this great lineup of comedians.

We're not going back.

Paul

Comics Love Kamala 2 THIS SATURDAY (10/12) at 9pm at Pangea

If you're a regular reader this blog, you may know that I'm also a comedian. In fact, I've been producing a monthly stand-up comedy show called Eat Drink Laugh at Pangea in the East Village of New York City for two-and-a-half years.

This Saturday, October 12 at 9pm, I'm hosting a very special stand-up comedy benefit for Kamala Harris. Tickets are $10 in advance ($15 at the door) plus a $20 minimum. Advance tickets are available here: https://cur8.com/23871/project/125486

I hope you'll join me and this great lineup of comedians.

Paul

Yacht Rock Revue at Pier 17

At a certain point, the music alternately known as “adult contemporary” or “easy listening” got rebranded, for some inexplicable reason, as “yacht rock.” I discovered this by accident as I was watching PBS one evening and saw a concert by Yacht Rock Revue, a band that mainly covers songs from the late ’70s and early ’80s. I was impressed by their ability to replicate the musical and vocal arrangements of some of my favorite songs and there was a certain kitschy charm to their Huk-a-Poo shirts, hip-hugger bell bottoms and aviator sunglasses.

When I saw them perform tonight at Pier 17, Nicholas Niespodziani, one of their singers, had a cold, which is unfortunate because he has a good voice and sang most of the songs in the PBS concert. Luckily, they have several other singers (most notably Peter Olson) who were able to fill in.

I don’t know if they have a deep repertoire for emergencies like this or they had to rejigger their set list at the last minute, but there were still a few songs I recognized from their PBS show. One stand-out was Sade’s “Smooth Operator.” Kourtney Jackson does great justice to Sade’s vocals and the saxophone player, David B. Freeman, nailed the sax part. Freeman was also featured on another showstopper, Gerry Rafferty’s “Baker Street.” The even performed ELO’s “Don’t Bring Me Down,” which was great since I missed ELO when they played at Madison Square Garden this week. (I suppose “yacht rock” is a loose organizing principal. Some of their songs might qualify as “classic rock.”)

Yacht Rock Revue may be the world’s best cover band. They do have a few original songs but, as they say, just play the hits—or, in this case, other people’s hits.

A Gap Salesperson Explains Global Trade to Me

I just had a very detailed discussion about tariffs, global trade, the economy and America vs. China with a salesperson at the Gap!

It all started when I wanted to buy a belt.

When I walked into the Gap store on Fifth Avenue in the Flatiron District, the salesperson explained that they didn’t have very many belts and they wouldn’t be getting any more in until November. He said I could go to the Gap flagship store in Times Square and, furthermore, they were converting the Flatiron location into a “Gap Factory” store. (It sounds like an outlet store but it basically just means they’d be selling cheaper merchandise.) I explained to him that I was a longtime Gap customer, but that recently I found that their prices had gone up while their quality had gone down and that’s why I now shopped at Men’s Wearhouse. (I’m also no longer a teenager.)

The salesperson went on to say that that was the trend in the clothing industry in general: more merchandise at cheaper quality. (Think Shein and Temu.)

I told him that there was a story in the New York Times that day about how President Biden was imposing more tariffs on China, which was surprising to me because I had just tweeted that those costs are passed on to the American consumer after the last presidential debate. A recent story on the PBS News Hour said that tariffs don’t really work because not that many jobs are saved and prices still go up.

The salesperson compared what’s happening in the clothing industry to what was happening in the auto industry. He said that in the future we’d all have to buy electric cars and unless we imposed tariffs on China, they’d take over the auto industry (as they’ve already done with the clothing industry). Furthermore, he went on to compare both these industries to the real estate industry, which he claimed China was also taking over, and that ultimately the goal was to make the dollar obsolete because China only wanted to trade in gold. (He emphasized that it was the Chinese government that was at fault, not the Chinese people.)

I’m not an economist, but a lot of what he said made sense to me.

All I know is that if I want to buy a belt, I now have to go to Times Square.

UPDATE: Success! (See photo above.) 

Querelle, Music in the Films of Luca Gaudagnino

Last night I saw Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s 1982 film adaptation of Jean Genet’s novel Querelle at Anthology Film Archives in the East Village. I saw it when it came out, but I had hardly any recollection of it, aside from Jeanne Moreau singing “Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves.” Not only does it still hold up, but it’s quite shocking even by (or especially by) today’s standards. It’s basically a Tom of Finland drawing come to life. I think it might be the most erotic film I’ve ever seen, even though there’s no explicit sex or nudity.

The night before, while I was channel surfing, I happened to catch Luca Guadagnino’s A Bigger Splash on cable, which I had also seen in theaters when it was originally released in 2015. I was particularly struck by a scene where Ralph Fiennes starts dancing to the Rolling Stones’ “Emotional Rescue.” The only words I can use to describe it are pure, unbridled joy.

I’ve always found music criticism to be lacking. How can you convey in words what a song is like? You have to hear it (and, in this case, see it). So here it is:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=623d9vZqF-4

I also remembered music playing a pivotal role in another of Guadagnino’s movies, Call Me By Your Name. In this instance, it’s Armie Hammer’s character dancing to the Psychedelic Furs’ “Love My Way.” Again, the feeling is pure, unbridled joy.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Aq_e88Gp8Bs

On a side note, when I went to see the Psychedelic Furs (twice) last year, it really pissed me off that they replaced the xylophone part in this song with a keyboard. So here it is as it was originally recorded:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=LGD9i718kBU

Stray Cats at Pier 17

I remember the first time I saw the first Stray Cats (UK) album at Bleecker Bob’s. (It was an import; they were still relatively unknown in the United States.) It was one of the only times I bought an album just because of its cover. (Remember albums? Remember cover art?)

In the middle of the new wave ’80s, with its synthesizer “hair bands,” these guys carved their own musical path, doing rockabilly, a style that harked back to the ’50s. With his pouty good looks and pompadour to die for, lead vocalist/guitarist Brian Setzer was a natural for the then-nascent MTV. No one was more surprised than I was when they became a hit in America. What was even more shocking was that these guys from Long Island (my hometown!) had gone to London to make a name for themselves. And yet it made perfect sense that these hyper-stylish guys would go to hyper-style conscious England, where it was easier to get a hit record than the US.

They came out of the gate with a number of strong songs: “Stray Cat Strut,” “Rock This Town,” “Runaway Boys” and “Rumble in Brighton” (from their first US album, Built for Speed), as well as “(She’s) Sexy + 17” (from their second US album, Rant n’ Rave with the Stray Cats). Then they basically disappeared. (Anyone remember the Brian Setzer Orchestra?)

But tonight at Pier 17 in New York City, they came roaring back to life, musicianship fully in tow (and they all still have their fabulous hair, damn it!). It’s amazing how much sound these guys get from just a guitar, bass and drums. (Drummer Slim Jim Phantom doesn’t even use a full drum kit, just a snare and cymbal!)

So Setzer and bassist Lee Rocker (who traded a “Long Island, NY” baseball jacket), along with Phantom (who wore a “Massapequa” T-shirt) brought it all back home.

The Village! A Disco Daydream

I felt very un-A List Gay when I entered the Soho Playhouse, but I was eventually won over by Nora Burns’s new show, The Village! A Disco Daydream (and that’s saying something for a curmudgeon like myself).

While I may be a little biased (she once lived in my building), Burns has been paying her dues for years in comedy troupes like Unitard, The Nellie Olesons and Planet Q and is finally getting the recognition she deserves (including a review in The New Yorker!).

And while I didn’t quite catch the end of the disco era in New York City (although I did own a copy of the album A Night at Studio 54) and I was decidedly more East Village than West Village, there were many moments of recognition for me (and history lessons for the kids).

The show tells the story of a hustler named Trade (Antony Cherrie) who lives in the West Village with his sugar daddy (Chuck Blasius) in 1979 and meets a young NYU student (Drew Timberlake Hill) and falls in love. Narrated by “trans-queen” Glace Chase, the show also features “gender fluid” Eileen Dover, a fag hag (Ashley Chavonne), a delivery man (Kevin Boseman) who embodies certain porn movie cliches, and three go-go dancers (Jack Barrow, Chris Patterson Rosso and JMV). (Burns certainly knows her gay stereotypes!) Burns herself appears as Junkie Jane, another character you might have met in the West Village in 1979. While she doesn’t have any lines in this show, she’s prominently featured in her other show, David’s Friend, which is being performed in repertory and which I saw in an earlier incarnation at La Mama.

The mood is set as soon as you enter the theater, to strains of disco music, while the go-go dancers mingle with the audience. While the set is black-box theater spare, for me one of the strong points of the show is its clever theatricality, such as when one actor holds up a widow frame to illustrate someone throwing their keys down to a friend through an apartment window.

The show then jumps forward to 1994 and touches on the devastation wrought by AIDS. The message here seems to be to live life to the fullest and enjoy it while you can.

The entire cast seems to be having a good time and I particularly enjoyed Cherrie who, in addition to being the requisite hunk (with a Ewan McGregor-ish Scottish accent, no less), has some touching moments at the end of the show. And since I sat in the first row, I got to enjoy his, er, “talents” up close. (Yes, I’m smitten.)

If I have any criticisms, they were minor (and, OK, maybe a little personal).

The sugar daddy character, who’s so “old” he has to pay for sex, was the same age I happened to turn the day I saw the show! (I guess people didn’t take very good care of themselves in 1979.)

And the audience on the night I saw the show was sometimes perhaps a little too enthusiastic, especially the man sitting next to me who laughed maybe a little too hard every time he spotted a reference. (This isn’t The Rocky Horror Picture Show!)

But perhaps that’s to be expected when people who are normally glued to their cell phones discover the joy of live theater, especially a production as fun and well-executed as this one.

A Letter to the Editor of The New York Times Regarding the Trump Assassination Attempt

To the Editor:

Political violence has no place in this country and I’m glad former president Trump wasn’t seriously injured by this heinous assassination attempt. But that should not prevent us from having an honest discussion about several things.

Just days before this happened, the president of the Heritage Foundation, authors of Project 2025, said we were “in the process of the second American Revolution, which will remain bloodless if the left allows it to be”: an implicit call to violence.

One party, the Republican Party, has consistently blocked every attempt to stem the epidemic of gun violence in his country.

It was Trump’s supporters who attacked the Capitol and beat police officers.

It was Trump himself who said he could “shoot someone on Fifth Avenue and get away with it,” who said there were “fine people on both sides” in Charlottesville, who encouraged his supporters to beat up protesters at his rallies and has consistently used violent rhetoric in his campaign, who wanted to call in the military against Black Lives Matter protesters, who said that former Joint Chiefs Army Gen. Mark Milley should be executed and former Congresswoman Liz Cheney should be tried for treason.

Let’s be honest about which party—the Republican Party—has consistently endorsed violence as a legitimate means of resolving conflicts.

I’m not condoning what happened. I’m just saying that, given Trump’s and the Republican Party’s history of violent rhetoric, it’s not surprising.

Paul Hallasy

New York, NY

The Problem with Biden/Democrats and Trump/Republicans

It’s been a difficult week for me.

In the week since the presidential debate and Biden’s subsequent pushback, I’ve gone back and forth on whether or not Biden should drop out of the race.

The New York Times editorial board and several of their columnists (Thomas L. Friedman, Paul Krugman, Michelle Goldberg) have come out in favor of Biden dropping out. So have several senators and congressmen (including New York Congressman Jerrold Nadler). The Times isn’t a radical, left-wing newspaper and these senators and congressmen aren’t radical, left-wing politicians.

All are in agreement that Biden has done a great job as president and is a decent, respectable man.

That’s not the issue.

The issue is who can beat Trump. And Biden has been struggling in the polls since the get-go and it’s only gotten worse since the debate.

Of course, no Republican has said anything about Trump’s lies, his own erratic behavior, his multiple indictments (and convictions) or the fact that he tried to overturn a free and fair election. There’s absolutely a double standard here.

But in the television age, you need to be able to speak on television. It doesn’t matter how smart or experienced you are.

I’m glad Biden has somewhat overcome his childhood stutter, but that’s not good enough.

My takeaway from the debate is that lies told forcefully are more effective than the truth told weakly.

And I hate to admit it, but Trump is a creature of television, a reality TV star with a sixth sense for going after people’s weaknesses.

Personally, I think Gavin Newsom would wipe the floor with Trump. He’s extremely articulate and 20 years younger. And I would pick Gretchen Whitmer, who would also wipe the floor with Trump, as his running mate.

I know it’s late in the game. I’m not sure what Democrats should do.

I just don’t want us to make the same mistake with Biden as we did in 2016 when Democrats anointed Hillary Clinton, who was further ahead in the polls than Biden is now but had similar issues.

And I’m feeling an awful sense of deja vu.

Happy Fourth of July! It May Be Our Last!

I just went to Target to buy a new fitted sheet, walking through TriBeCa to their Greenwich Street store. Everyone who can afford to has left town. Even the few “affordable” options have jacked up their prices for the holiday so that only the most wealthy can be spared. The only people I see are tourists and the poor people (like me) who couldn’t afford to get the hell out of Dodge. There are hustlers selling counterfeit goods on Canal Street. Walking down West Broadway, all the restaurants and high-end clothing and furniture stores are closed. Even they don’t want to deal with the tourists. Walking back home, the entire West Side along the Hudson River is closed off for the Fourth of July fireworks. I cut through SoHo and there are throngs of tourists clogging the sidewalks amidst a few hardy restaurants sporting American flags. Someone has blocked off the western end of Spring Street and is cooking on a barbecue grill in the middle of the street while a fire hydrant sprays away.

If I had to pick a movie to describe my mood right now, it would be either Nashville or Taxi Driver, those two great films from the ’70s that predicted the apocalypse because they thought that we’d never seen (or would see) anything as bad as Nixon and Watergate.

Little did they know.

I’ve been in a bad mood since the presidential debate (well, actually, since Gay Pride Day, which I completely ignored this year, its forced pressure to be happy being second only to New Year’s Eve). If you saw, or even heard of, the debate, you what I’m talking about. Watching Biden struggle through the first ten minutes (not to mention the remaining 80) was painful, like a punch to the stomach, especially considering who he was up against.

You know who I’m talking about.

What can I say about Donald Trump that hasn’t been said, except to say that I hate this man with a passion. He’s a liar and a bully, a pathological narcissist, and his lies during the debate went unchecked by the moderators. It wasn't until days after the debate that I was reminded that Biden had just flown across nine time zones to attend a fundraiser in Los Angeles and then three time zones back to Washington before the debate. No wonder he was out of it!

Even so, I would vote for Biden’s dead corpse before I voted for that sleazy opportunist and grifter, Trump.

It’s hard not to feel like this country is in full meltdown, what with Project 2025 and what Trump has already told us he would do if re-elected. (Hint: it rhymes with “retribution.”) And then the pièce de résistance came on Monday, when the Supreme Court (on the last day of their term, of course) basically upended the Constitution and told Trump (OK, any president, but let’s be real: Trump) that he could do whatever the fuck he wanted as long as it was within his “official duties” as president.

Remember when Trump said that he could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue and get away with it? Well now, thanks to the Supreme Court, he can!

So forgive me if I won’t be attending the fireworks (not that I ever gave a shit about them). But the overwhelming hypocrisy of celebrating how great we are seems especially hypocritical this year.

Happy fucking Fourth!

Where Have All the Old Punks Gone?

Last night, my friend Lisa had an extra ticket to see Chris Spedding at Bowery Electric. I’m not particularly a fan, but I feel like when something like this falls into your lap, you have to say yes unless you have a good reason not to. (And the fact that I’d normally be watching TV on a Wednesday night was not a good reason not to.)

Chris Spedding isn’t exactly famous, but he’s a well-respected “side man,” a musician’s musician who played with Roxy Music at their induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Previously, I’d only seen Spedding play with Robert Gordon (another show that Lisa invited me to). And before that, my only memory of him was of seeing his face on an album cover 40 years ago, when he looked quite stunning.

But for me the real show was the audience.

Before I even walked in the door, I spotted an old woman entering the club wearing a CBGB T-shirt. If ever someone could say, “I have T-shirts older than you,” it was her.

Then I entered and the real show began. (I wish I’d taken pictures, but I don’t think that would’ve been cool, even though I saw other people taking pictures.)

Where do I begin?

I’ve never seen so much black, leather and leopard print in one place. But something was amiss. At first, it was like entering a time warp. It was like being 19 again and entering the Mudd Club or Berlin.

Except everyone was 40 years older!

My friend Lisa and I seemed to be the youngest people there. (OK, not everyone was old. The bartender, who was absolutely adorable, seemed to be about 19 and much too healthy to be working there.)

Someone actually showed up with a cane! I was half-expecting someone to show up with a walker!

I saw one guy who looked like Alan Vega, the lead singer of Suicide. (Yes, that was the name of an actual punk band. It was the ’80s, what can I say?) Except that Alan Vega is dead.

Another guy in a leather top hat could have been the winner of the Alice Cooper Look-alike Contest.

There were two aging punk women in frizzy hair and black eyeliner screeching at each other. One of them had brought an album with her. (You know, those round vinyl things we used to play music on?)

I just had three questions: 1. Where did all these people come from? 2. What did they all do for a living? and 3. How can they afford to live here?

You used to see people like this in the East Village all the time. But that was 40 years ago. Were these the same people 40 years later? Even if they were rent-stabilized (like me), how had they survived? Did they now live in the far reaches of the Bronx or Staten Island and take the subway in to see Chris Spedding?

I thought of East Village fixtures like John Spacely (a.k.a. “Gringo”), whose eyepatched likeness used to hover above St. Mark’s Place. Or Jimmy Webb, the eternally youthful sales clerk at Trash & Vaudeville.

I had to remind myself that the Sex Pistols first appeared on the scene in 1977. That was 47 years ago! So even if these people were 16 back then, they’d be 63 now.

That’s almost (gasp) my age!

I wasn’t sure whether I should be inspired or depressed. Was it hopeful that Chris Spedding was 79 and still rocking out or pathetic?

Was this my future? (Or, even worse, my present?)

After the show, I conducted a little mini-tour of my old haunts for Lisa. “This is where CBGB used to be. I’ve actually played there.” (It’s now a John Varvatos boutique.) “This is where The Great Gildersleeves used to be.” (It was torn down and replaced by an NYU dorm.) “This is where I ‘met’ (in the biblical sense) the Ramones’ art director, Arturo Vega, and where the Ramones used to crash.” (There’s probably some rich stockbroker living there now.)

I eventually made it home on time to catch the second rerun of Seinfeld. After all, some of us old punks actually have to work for a living.

Why I Can No Longer Watch Jon Stewart

I had high hopes for Jon Stewart, really I did. I even added Comedy Central to my Spectrum channel lineup specifically so I could watch The Daily Show.

I didn’t appreciate the way Stewart was unceremoniously dropped from Comedy Central along with his compatriot, Stephen Colbert. Colbert was kicked upstairs to Comedy Central’s older sibling, CBS, where he continued to thrive, while Stewart was left to wander the streaming wilderness.

But Stewart and Colbert were built for a time when politics were, for lack of a better word, normal. The stakes in this election are about nothing less than democracy vs. autocracy. Given that choice, everything else pales in comparison.

This is not the time for cutesy old man jokes and bothsidesism. What we need is the full-throated condemnation of someone like Lawrence O’Donnell (The Last Word with Lawrence O’Donnell) and the analysis of his legal experts (and frequent guests) Laurence Tribe, Andrew Weissmann and Neal Katyal.

As it happens, Stewart debuted a few days after Donald Trump made a speech in which he said he would encourage Putin to attack our NATO allies if they didn’t “pay up.” (Never mind the fact that NATO countries don’t actually pay America anything.)

In normal times (i.e., pre-Trump), Republicans would have gone ballistic over a comment like this. Instead, there was crickets, if not outright support.

And what was the news media covering when this happened?

There were tons of stories about President Biden’s age, brought on by special counsel Robert Hur’s report on Biden’s retaining of classified documents (which Biden, unlike Trump, promptly returned), in which Hur inserted his personal opinion about Biden’s mental acuity. There hasn’t been such an egregious case of editorializing since Trump’s attorney general, William Barr, preemptively cleared him before Robert Mueller’s report on the investigation into “Russiagate” was released!

On the same night that Stewart’s show aired, O’Donnell, on his show, used the example of Franklin Roosevelt, who was one of the most accomplished presidents in history despite being confined to a wheelchair,¹ to make the point that it’s not one’s appearance that matters, but how qualified they are at making decisions.

The New York Times, which published more stories over the weekend about Biden’s age than about Trump’s NATO comments, tried to atone for their lopsided coverage by publishing an essay by a neuroscientist, explaining why we shouldn’t be concerned about Biden’s memory lapses.²

Paul Krugman expressed a similar opinion in his column.³

Meanwhile, Trump makes gaffes on a daily basis and the media doesn’t even bother to cover it.

So, forgive me, if I won’t be watching The Daily Show’s election coverage for the next nine months. I’m afraid it would only make me more infuriated than I already am. I think the nostalgic comfort of Seinfeld might be more what I need in order to be able to go to sleep.

1 https://www.msnbc.com/the-last-word/watch/lawrence-biden-on-his-worst-day-is-better-than-trump-on-his-best-day-204101189938

2 https://www.nytimes.com/2024/02/12/opinion/neuroscientist-on-biden-age-memory.html

3 https://www.nytimes.com/2024/02/12/opinion/biden-trump-america.html

The Beatles: Get Back

Just when I thought I couldn’t be in any more awe of the Beatles, along comes The Beatles: Get Back, Peter Jackson’s three-part, uncut version of their 1969 documentary, Let It Be, to blow the top of my head off.

I’m old enough to have seen Let It Be when it was originally released (and buy the album). I don’t remember too much about the movie but I think it’s mostly remembered as an account of the Beatles’ breakup, most of which was blamed on John Lennon’s girlfriend and soon-to-be wife, Yoko Ono.

What I see when I watch the uncut version, however, is four men who clearly love each other, particularly John and Paul. Their relationship is so close, it’s like they’re two halves of the same person. Most of the film is taken up with the four of them laughing and joking.

Yes, it’s true that George Harrison walks out of the recording session and threatens to leave the band at the end of the first part. That seems to be the real reason for the Beatles’ breakup (among other things): the fact that George felt that his opinion wasn’t valued and not enough of his songs were being included on Beatles albums.

But the real revelation of this film is the sheer depth and breadth of the Beatles’ talent. During the course of Get Back, you hear songs that not only are not included on Let It Be. (Some of them wound up on Abbey Road, some of them wound up on Hey Jude, some of them wound up on Paul and Linda McCartney’s Ram and some of them wound of on George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass.) Some of them are not on any of the Beatles’ studio albums (and I had all their albums from Rubber Soul onward)! Some of them are not even on their Anthology collections! I’m hearing Beatles songs I’ve never heard before!

Beyond that, their knowledge of the pop music that preceded them—people like Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry and Little Richard, as well as lesser-known artists—is truly encyclopedic, as is evidenced by the number of these songs that are in their repertoire.

But the thing that will truly blow your mind is watching songs you know like the back of your hand come to life.

They’ll start out with maybe just a bit of the melody and no lyrics and they might just hum along or sing nonsense words. Then they’ll gradually start adding lyrics until the whole thing takes shape. And finally, at the end of the film, you see them performing some of the finished songs. It’s nothing short of miraculous!

Oh yeah, and one more thing: Paul was absolutely beautiful.

All of Us Strangers

All of Us Strangers is the most disturbing movie I’ve seen since The Deer Hunter in 1979. (That movie left me crying in my childhood bedroom afterwards. I remember my brother coming into my bedroom to ask me what was wrong.) When I got home, I posted on Facebook that, “while I thought it was extremely well done (particularly the performances), it's not a movie I'd recommend if you're feeling sad or depressed or don't have access to a therapist immediately afterwards. I also had to check Wikipedia when I got home to find out wtf happened in it and I'm still a little confused.”

I’m slightly less confused now but after a somewhat sleepless New Year’s Eve, I’m still disturbed by it, but I can’t discuss it without revealing some plot points, so here goes.

SPOILERS AHEAD

All of Us Strangers is about two gay men, Adam and Harry, who live in a mostly empty apartment tower on the outskirts of London (they seem to be the only two tenants in the building) who meet and start a relationship. During the course of the movie, it’s revealed that Adam’s two parents died in a car crash when he was 12. It’s a little confusing, though, because throughout the film, Adam visits his childhood home, where his parents are still alive and basically the same age he is. At the end of the movie, according to Wikipedia, Adam returns to his apartment building and “goes to see Harry but finds him long dead in his flat's bedroom, with the same bottle he was drinking from on the night they met empty in his hand." So does that mean their entire relationship was a fantasy?

One of the most depressing things about the movie is that it uses the song “The Power of Love” by Frankie Goes to Hollywood (quite powerfully, I might add) and I had to remind myself that that song is 40 years old.

So where do I begin?

On the one hand, this is a powerful, thought-provoking film with great performances by the entire cast (especially Andrew Scott as Adam, but also Paul Mescal as Harry and Jamie Bell and Claire Foy as Adam’s parents), but you might feel suicidal afterwards. I think it speaks to the alienation of living in a large city like London and also deals quite effectively with the issue of coming out to one’s parents and wanting to be accepted by them.

I think the movie’s message is that love transcends death (or “the power of love,” like the song used in the movie), but, damn, at what cost?