I’ll admit that when I first heard the term “cancel culture,” I thought it was a government edict for me to cancel my membership in the Yogurt of the Month Club.
I’ll admit that when I first heard the term “cancel culture,” I thought it was a government edict for me to cancel my membership in the Yogurt of the Month Club.
A few thousand writers and editors affiliated with Simon & Schuster are doing their damnedest to ensure that a memoir by former Vice President Mike Pence will become a best-seller when it comes out in 2023.
Memorial Day is the unofficial kickoff of summer and we’re now officially in a drought here in California. Until Governor Gavin Newsom declared it, we were evidently in an ex officio drought, which was a little like having a learner’s permit but not being allowed to climb into the full disaster to buckle up and go for a spin. Or having a designer need to have a licensed architect sign off on an architectural drawing in order to make it an architectural design.
I’ve lived in California since I was not-quite eight years old and it’s often felt like being in a TV show I joined “in progress” because its opening was pre-empted by a hockey game in overtime. (“Folks, the players have just six minutes left to beat each other senseless with their sticks and fists in the name of good sport and icy fun, so please stay with us.”)
Forgive me, Facebook, for I have sinned. Ever since learning that you actually have an oversight board—composed of “academics, activists and political leaders,” according to the Wall Street Journal—I’ve shamelessly begged its members to invite me to join.
It’s official: No noose is good news. The city council of the Sierra foothills town of Placerville decided a couple of weeks ago to remove a longstanding graphic from its logo: a hangman’s knotted, lethal loop.
It was reported recently in every conceivable news outlet, on all social media websites, via carrier puffins and by zombie Pony Express riders that Prince Harry—aka, the Duke or Duck of Sussex, depending on how badly you suffer from Anglophilia—has been hired by the Aspen Institute’s Commission on Information Disorder.
I’m sure that many of you have a consulting etymologist on staff, as we do here at The Goldman State’s HQ. He’s been helping me navigate the shoals, icebergs and barrier reefs not only of word usage but also of overwrought nautical metaphors, like the one I just used.
Rush Limbaugh had yet to become RUSH LIMBAUGH when I met, got to know and ultimately estranged him during his days here in Sacramento at KFBK radio in the 1980s.
Just three weeks ago, on the day of Joe Biden’s inauguration as president, the aphids were already gathering on the plants of democracy. (You can see why I’ve cut back on the metaphor-consulting side of my business.)