What if I don’t want to talk about politics?
Hello friends. Hi.
Wow.
The world is a different place than it was when I last newslettered.
I should have sent word weeks ago, urging you to buy tickets to Great Lakes. First, I was afraid the play wouldn’t be good. And by the time I knew, Okay phew! It’s good. We’re good… That thing happened. Like, simultaneously. We were in the middle of our next-to-last runthrough as the returns came in and the map. went. red.
I’ve been avoiding writing this letter because I don’t know what to say.
There’s been such an outpouring from my friends, the people I follow on social media, nearly every other newsletter I subscribe to. Sobbing and rage and protest.
I just feel a little stunned. Horrified, yes, but through a fog.
I spoke to my dad for a few minutes over the weekend, my dad who is not historically apolitical, my dad who emigrated to Canada shortly after Reagan was elected; who toured British Columbia with an amateur theater troupe in the early 80s, bringing attention to the cause of the Sandinistas; who took me to every peace march when I was a kid.
He wanted to hear about the play, we discussed an extended visit for Christmas, and then as we were saying our I love you’s and Talk to you soon’s, I realized…
Oh that thing
We didn’t talk about
Yep.
Neither of us wanted to talk about it.
A good friend invited me to a gathering of female writers here in LA. The idea was, I think, to light a figurative candle in the darkness, to write through our feelings, and share our feelings. And I just didn’t want to go. I don’t know if too many feelings make me uncomfortable, or if maybe I feel like my feelings aren’t enough.
(Both. The answer is both.)
My response has been to throw myself back into the latest screenplay. Keep writing strong female characters is the best thing I know to do. Write a movie I’d be proud to show my 22-year-old niece—and my three small honorary nieces, when they’re older. There’s a worthy goal.
This tweet from Jeffrey Wright has offered a bit of solace: May the election of Trump bring forth the fiercest, smartest, toughest generation of ass-kicking women this country could possibly imagine.
YESSSS
AND
What if this horror show of a Trump administration could inspire more than just a new generation, more than just the little girls. What if we could galvanize some not-so-little girls, and some grown women too?
The best way I know how to help is to put my nose to the grindstone and make fierce, funny, feminist work.
*****
Netflick of the month: Speaking of fierce (though not so funny) feminist work, the third season of The Fall continues to bring it. The series is not only terrifically entertaining and beautifully shot and acted and all of that, but also deeply socially responsible. In the first episode of the new season, Gillian Anderson’s character has a speech about consent—she’s talking to the husband of the victim of a sexual predator—that is that is so well crafted and so not preachy and so much a thing that needs to be spoken aloud in an entertainment context. I startle each time the opening credits remind me The Fall was created and written in full by a male person. 👏 Allan Cubitt.
Wow.
The world is a different place than it was when I last newslettered.
I should have sent word weeks ago, urging you to buy tickets to Great Lakes. First, I was afraid the play wouldn’t be good. And by the time I knew, Okay phew! It’s good. We’re good… That thing happened. Like, simultaneously. We were in the middle of our next-to-last runthrough as the returns came in and the map. went. red.
I’ve been avoiding writing this letter because I don’t know what to say.
There’s been such an outpouring from my friends, the people I follow on social media, nearly every other newsletter I subscribe to. Sobbing and rage and protest.
I just feel a little stunned. Horrified, yes, but through a fog.
I spoke to my dad for a few minutes over the weekend, my dad who is not historically apolitical, my dad who emigrated to Canada shortly after Reagan was elected; who toured British Columbia with an amateur theater troupe in the early 80s, bringing attention to the cause of the Sandinistas; who took me to every peace march when I was a kid.
He wanted to hear about the play, we discussed an extended visit for Christmas, and then as we were saying our I love you’s and Talk to you soon’s, I realized…
Oh that thing
We didn’t talk about
Yep.
Neither of us wanted to talk about it.
A good friend invited me to a gathering of female writers here in LA. The idea was, I think, to light a figurative candle in the darkness, to write through our feelings, and share our feelings. And I just didn’t want to go. I don’t know if too many feelings make me uncomfortable, or if maybe I feel like my feelings aren’t enough.
(Both. The answer is both.)
My response has been to throw myself back into the latest screenplay. Keep writing strong female characters is the best thing I know to do. Write a movie I’d be proud to show my 22-year-old niece—and my three small honorary nieces, when they’re older. There’s a worthy goal.
This tweet from Jeffrey Wright has offered a bit of solace: May the election of Trump bring forth the fiercest, smartest, toughest generation of ass-kicking women this country could possibly imagine.
YESSSS
AND
What if this horror show of a Trump administration could inspire more than just a new generation, more than just the little girls. What if we could galvanize some not-so-little girls, and some grown women too?
The best way I know how to help is to put my nose to the grindstone and make fierce, funny, feminist work.
*****
Netflick of the month: Speaking of fierce (though not so funny) feminist work, the third season of The Fall continues to bring it. The series is not only terrifically entertaining and beautifully shot and acted and all of that, but also deeply socially responsible. In the first episode of the new season, Gillian Anderson’s character has a speech about consent—she’s talking to the husband of the victim of a sexual predator—that is that is so well crafted and so not preachy and so much a thing that needs to be spoken aloud in an entertainment context. I startle each time the opening credits remind me The Fall was created and written in full by a male person. 👏 Allan Cubitt.
Nacho of the month: I’m happy to announce I’ve found the best nachos in Los Angeles. The parking at Mexicali Taco & Co stinks, so def go after 7pm when the spaces on Sunset/Cesar Chavez are legal. Or pony up $6 to park in the lot at Chavez and Figueroa, is what we finally did. BUT THE NACHOS HOLY SHIT. Freshly-made tortilla chips, roasty delicious salsa, and a killller cheese blend. Get em with chorizo if you’re a meat eater. The pastor and the shrimp taco were excellent too, and I think Ricky loved the vampiros? Hard to remember. BECAUSE THE NACHOS
That's all I've got, folks.
***
xoxo,
Laramie
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