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Would You Live Here?

Casa Tupin in Brasília has no windows, at least not in the traditional sense, Coral-coloured brick screens wrap the entire house, filtering light, blocking heat, and letting air move freely in every direction. the house sits on 12 pillars so the cerrado can grow beneath it and the lizards and burrowing owls of the Brazilian savanna can roam freely between the garden and the courtyard. From the street it looks closed. inside it opens completely.⁠

[source]

My first thought was what happens to those interiors during a windy thunderstorm? But if you look closely at the pictures (more here) you’ll see that there are actually sliding glass panels inside the brick that can be opened or closed to allow ventilation from the outside. Knowing this, I kind of like the concept, although keeping the place dusted must be a nightmare.

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The Streisand Effect In Full Force

Since kash patel filed his $250 million defamation lawsuit against The Atlantic, reporter Sarah Fitzpatrick says she has been absolutely inundated with new sources reaching up to the highest levels of government, all lining up to corroborate her original reporting. The lawsuit, filed Monday, has functioned more like a megaphone than a muzzle. Fitzpatrick built her initial investigation on more than two dozen sources who described patel as an excessive drinker prone to erratic behavior and unexplained absences, behavior they believed posed a genuine national security risk.

Rather than discrediting the story, the lawsuit appears to have shaken loose even more damaging information. Fitzpatrick went on the Radio Atlantic podcast and made clear she stands by every word, noting that the flood of new sources has been one of the most gratifying responses she could have imagined. The Atlantic has called the lawsuit meritless and says it will fight it aggressively.

What makes this especially striking is why so many people stayed quiet in the first place. Fitzpatrick described patel as someone widely feared to be extremely vindictive, with insiders worried he would pursue them through costly litigation. The lawsuit meant to punish the press ended up proving that point exactly, while opening the floodgates to even more of the story patel desperately wanted buried.

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Friday Tiedrich

I’m so tired of being told that Preznit Fuckwit — a quadrice-indicted twice-impeached once-convicted popular-vote-losing adderall-huffing dead-pedo-bestie-schmoozing East-Wing-destroying insurrection-leading ear-diapering testimony-ducking judge-threatening lawyer-ignoring debate-avoiding witness-tampering disabled-veteran-dishonoring inheritance-squandering rube-fleecing clown-makeup-smearing language-mangling sneaker-hawking serial-sexual-predating draft-dodging casino-bankrupting butler-bullying daughter-perving hush-money-paying real-estate-scamming bone-spur-faking ketchup-hurling justice-obstructing classified-war-plan-thieving golf-cheating stock-manipulating weather-map-defacing war-criminal-pardoning horse-paste-promoting paper-towel-flinging race-baiting tax-evading evidence-destroying charity-defrauding money-laundering diaper-filling 34-count 79-year-old fluorescent-tangerine narcoleptic fart factory — is some kind of second coming of Jesus.

check out Troy Nehls, the doughy pantload who the voters of Texas keep sending back to Congress.

“I believe that Donald Trump is better than sliced bread. I think he’s— he’s almost the second coming.”

nice catch there, Troy, sticking that ‘almost’ in there. we wouldn’t want any ethereal lightning bolts hurled down from above, aimed squarely at our ass, would we?

I’ve got a news flash for Troy, and all these other Republican fucksticks who never stop yammering about how Dear Leader walks on water: Donny is not the messiah. he’s a very naughty boy. now go away.

let’s do a bit of a fact check. here are some highlights from the dog-and-pony show Donny held in the Oval Bordello yesterday.

tell me, would a true messiah never shut his big fat yap about crowd size?

that’s where Martin Luther King gave his— great speech. and he had a million people, and— I had the same exact crowd, maybe a little bit more, but they said I had twenty-five thousand people on July 4th. I have pictures of Martin Luther King’s crowd, my crowd, exact same— everything. but it was seventy years difference. the exact same crowd, but— I actually had more people, but that’s okay. they gave him— they gave him a million people, they said a million people but I had twenty-five thousand people, so, but— these are the things that you get with the— we had on July 4th uhhhh, a few years ago. first term.”

I’m no Biblical scholar, but I’m pretty sure that Jesus never bragged about the crowd size for the Sermon on the Mount — and let’s not forget, the attendance for that sucker was ginormous. the Sermon crowd was so huge that people in the back couldn’t even properly make out what he was saying.

a real messiah would be humble about that shit, and not wave photos at every opportunity. ‘see this crowd? Pontius Pilate’s autopen wishes he could get that many people.’

Donny sure is jealous of the accomplishments of black men, isn’t he? how small and petty is he, that he can’t even mention King’s speech without insisting that his own crowd was just as big — no, wait, it was bigger! — and that he never got proper recognition for it. shut the fuck up, you tiny, insecure gnat.

how hilarious is it that back in the 1970s, Donny and his tyrant Klansman father got fined by the federal government for refusing to rent any of their apartments to black people — and now, black people like Barack Obama and Martin Luther King Jr live rent-free in Donny’s head?

now I ask you, would a true messiah fall asleep at 3:30 in the afternoon, filling the Oval Bordello with the pungent aroma of ass music?

look at this narcoleptic old coot. he can’t hack it.

what in the actual fuck is going on here? Donny is out like a fucking light — and it looks like he’s about to slide off his chair and disappear under the Resolute Desk. won’t anybody help this frail old man? won’t someone get Dear Leader his pudding cup and lead him to bed?

this, by the way, is why Donny’s handlers kept him hidden from the press all week — he’s crashing out, hard. he can no longer handle the rigors of the presidency.

a real King of Kings wouldn’t be pulling that ‘I’m such a sleepy boy’ crap in the middle of the day — not when there are multitudes to be fed. a true messiah would be on that shit.

consider this: the math involved in figuring out how to divvy up one fish and one loaf into— into— hey, how many is ‘a multitude,’ anyway? look, my point is that a real messiah wouldn’t fail basic fourth-grade arithmetic.

the Apostle Brainworms: “[Elizabeth Warren] was ridiculing President Trump for his math. she was saying it’s mathematically impossible to have a drug drop by 600% in cost. I said ‘well, if the drug was $100 and it raises the price to $600, that would be a 600% rise. well, if it drops from $600 to $100, that’s a 600% savings.’”

Donny: “right.”

imagine being this proud of being this ass-clownishly stupid. that’s not the way calculating percentages works, yet Donny and his disciples are doubling down on their dumbfuckery.

an actual messiah wouldn’t need community notes.

a true Light of the World would put down the lamb, pick up a calculator, crunch the numbers and go ‘huh, I guess you’re right.’

a real messiah learns.

I should point out once again that I’m no Biblical scholar — but I’m pretty sure that Jesus never got pissy with a scribe from the Nazareth News Network.

reporter: “what do you say to the American people who question how much longer this will take? obviously you know they’re having higher gas prices.”

Donny: “you’re such a disgrace. did you hear what I just said? how many years was Vietnam?”

oh, now that’s a winning argument, for sure. go right ahead and keep comparing the debacle in Iran to the clusterfuck in Vietnam. I’m sure that’s a pairing that the American people really want to have in their minds right now, as everything goes to shit.

a messiah wouldn’t call someone ‘a disgrace’ just for asking a question. a real Fisher of Men would give a wink and a thumb’s up while convivially winning all doubters over to his side.

but wait — there’s more.

reporter: “does that mean Americans should anticipate spending more on gasoline for the foreseeable future?”

Donny: “for a little while. you know what they get for that? Iran without a nuclear weapon that’s going to try and blow up one of our cities or blow up the entire Middle East. the stock market is at an all time high.”

reporter: “but that doesn’t drive prices down.”

Donny: “let me finish, wise guy.”

there’s nothing in the Biblical record about the Prince of Peace being a thin-skinned piss-baby — and I’m pretty sure that no one had to hold a What The Fuck Is Wrong With You Challenge™ for the ancient scribes of the Lamb of God Press Pool.

so let’s recap.

Jesus: humble as fuck.
Dear Leader: insecure braggart.

Jesus: alert and on the job.
Dear Leader: narcoleptic old fart factory.

Jesus: generous and giving.
Dear Leader: can’t math his way out of a paper bag.

Jesus: patient and kind.
Dear Leader: crabby and short-tempered.

so, it looks like my original premise stands. Preznit Fuckwit is not the messiah. he’s a very naughty boy.

your honor, I rest my case.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

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Would You Live Here?

In 1976, architect Tadao Ando designed the Azuma House in Sumiyoshi, Osaka, Japan. The residence occupies a narrow plot between two traditional wooden row houses. It was built with smooth reinforced concrete and features no street-facing windows.

The design centers on an open-air courtyard that splits the interior into two distinct sections. Residents must walk outside through the rain or cold to move from the kitchen to the bedroom. This intentional choice forces a constant interaction with the natural elements within a crowded urban environment.

[Source]

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The Gang Was Still All There, March 1987

(L-R) Leo, Dennis, Your Host, Alan, Lee, Bernie, Steve

Yeah, I’m posting a lot of old photos today. It’s nice to be reminded that the world wasn’t always falling apart with a madman at the helm, still threatening nuclear annihilation.

People have always given me a hard time for taking so many photos, but as I enter the winter of my life, I’m so glad I did. (The same goes for the two decades of journals I kept, even if I can’t place a single face to the men I seemed to always be gushing over.)

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Welcome To The Castro

May 1985. This was our first trip to The City, a whirlwind adventure of only one weekend. We had so many places we wanted to visit, and a very limited time to do so (especially since we were without a car). We weren’t sure we’d have time to visit the Castro, but managed to fit it in that Sunday afternoon before heading to the airport.

But it was enough. We’d been bitten. We returned in November, at Christmas, and again in April and June of 1986 for longer stays. By the time August ’86 rolled around we’d all (myself, Bernie, and our friends Lee and Alan) relocated there. In the interim Bernie and I had split up but remained friends, and rented a flat together for the next year while we got our bearings.