Bad Improv
“Briefly offline for maintenance, check back later” said the webpage I tried to log into on my newly created wordpress account*. “Been there.” Thought I. But I have one hour of paid parking in which to force myself to sit down and write this newsletter. When I promised nine newsletters ago that this would be a weekly affair, I really hope by now we all understood that said promise was emptier than a hotel minbar when Pete Hegseth checks out. I will TRY, is what I meant. Sometimes, I will write something that is too personal to write about yet and have to scrap it or draft it. Sometimes I will write something that is just not good enough to publish instead of JUST good enough to publish, like my last three newsletters. Self doubt gets in the way, lack of inspiration and writers block take their turns at the wheel. C’est la vie. But it’s been too much time and I also need to get in the habit of forcing myself to write every day whether I send it to you or not so I have planted myself in a chair in a random Starbucks. Yes, that Starbucks (not the famous independent male deer rescue, Star Bucks). I don’t support Israel or anything, it’s just that all the other coffee shops are full of the worst Los Angeles conversations you have ever heard and today I need to actually focus on the thing I am doing and not someone named Gaele explaining why being the progeny of studio execs is really hard on their creative spirit. Sure, Gaele. So, between sips of the most sub-par matcha I have ever seen I will explain the news of the day. First up: Starbucks Matcha is Awful. Subhead: I am a matcha snob. I have been following this reddit Sub called LeopardsAteMyFace that I might have mentioned here or on the stream or on the podcast. Basically it’s the collected regrets in headlines and screenshots of Trump voters having become the victims of the policies they voted for. It’s a pointless exercise in schadenfreude that I’ve become addicted to since the beginning of Trump 2.0. You look at every comment, every post, and expect to see that one observation that will make it all make sense. Scrolling in a futile attempt to satisfy the nausea of cognitive dissonance that accompanies any semblance of political awareness today. You get it! Recreation! I woke up today to an alert from the sub with the headline “They did sign up for it actually” -Trump on my watch. Oh right, another thing I am doing for mY MeNtAL hEalTh is leaving my phone in any other room besides the bedroom when I retire, meaning I wake up and blearily stare at all the notifications on my wrist. It’s like trying to doomscroll through binoculars. While browsing the Leopards sub I try really really hard to remember that cherry picked sob stories and gotchas from random idiots is not a reliable benchmark by which to gage public opinion. At the end of the day, you are either believing a made up Facebook post about a fictional farmer who has no future and is sad or just feeling smug about one random actual farmer’s misfortune. It’s not healthy, I ought to touch grass, etc. But today jumped the Leopard. I think the last decade has felt like a mental tug of war between which people to be more mad at: The oligarchs at the top who are doing the bad things, or the regular people who are facilitating it. Today felt like the rope snapped and I fell ass first into a pile of sad farmers. Simultaneously impoverished and spoiled, Americans drift along on a lazy river of New Deal policies that have been drying up for decades. Those decades were busy ones for the Federalist Society and other groups that were planning their oligarchic coup while democrats…I guess, didn’t plan a coup?** The gradual dismantling of the free press and the public education system is the result of a targeted strike on the self determination of working people. To blame those same working people for being uneducated and misinformed seemed cruel. But then, along came Trump, and a giant swath of those misinformed or intellectually impoverished people showed us the meaning of cruelty. A whole fuck ton of our neighbors and family members seem to have chosen meanness and base prejudice as their coping mechanism of choice for society’s ills, and it becomes harder and harder to feel for anyone who made such a choice. There’s a thing you learn in improv 101 about constructing a playable comedic game. Either the world is crazy, and you are the one sane person (or you and a friend, which is called peas in a pod, mentioned for cute points), or you are the one crazy person and everyone else is sane. It’s like that with many SNL sketches: In the alien encounters sketches, the rule is that Kate McKinnon is crazy, and everyone else just reacts. Same with the George Washington Nate Bargatze sketch, Washington is the crazy one and everyone else just tries to keep up. In the Domingo sketch, the reverse is true. The whole world is in on Chloe Fineman cheating and only Andrew Dismukes as the groom thinks it’s weird. The concept is symmetrical and creates an automatic template for endless specifics that delight the audience. In Trumpland, America is one large cacophonous improv team all playing different games. In one instance, we could all be the normal ones, and Trump is the crazy one, bulldozing international diplomacy on the world stage while Emmanuel Macron looks into the camera à la Jim Halpert. But also on the world stage during this terrible improv show you have MAGA, who never comes to practice but always gets to be in the show. An entire population of people hell bent on being as fucking nuts as possible.
Actually, it is Bad
Uncertain times feels like an understatement. Economic collapse? Check. Political dissidents getting disappeared off the street? Check. Neil Young is dragging his rusty ass out of whatever leather shoe he lives in with Daryl Hannah to give a sub par performance at a Political Rally? Ah yes, the pieces are all in place. It is time. Bernie can finally win this one. The rally was a Bernie Sanders / AOC “Fuck the Oligarchy” tour and I think it’s interesting that the two male friends I had go to the rally referred to it as “The Bernie Rally.” TBF, No one would ever want to say they are going to see the Fuck the Oligarchy Rally unless they are Tom Morello. Or Tom Tomorrow. Look, the point is, I am 40. [Garret clears his throat loudly in the other room]. Ok! FINE! I’m 43. Which means: I have and was already politically aware, extremely online, and kickin’ the last time Bernie Sanders almost won the presidency/ ruined everything for us in 2015.* And do you remember the primaries? Of 2019? Why does that seem longer ago than actual 2016? I remember Bernie ran AGAIN and we had snake-gate with Elizabeth Warren? God, that still chaps my ass. I am still so mad about the snake emojis that I genuinely do not want you to look it up if you have no idea what I am talking about. There is too much fuckery about for you to find an old thing to get mad about. Spare your brain space for learning cool animal facts and perhaps a new trade. What is the point of this rant. Well, I want to get to the discussion of whether we on the left need to be more progressive or more centrist. That seems to be the big debate on the many, many political podcasts I ruin my days with. And it does tie in! I am firmly, for the record, in the camp that says the democrats need to be way, way more progressive both economically and culturally. This is true now, it was true in 2016, which is not to say “Bernie would have won!” or anything. Frankly I have spent eight years hating when people say that. But I think for the future of like, the world (?), those of us who think child care and clean water are good things and making rich people more rich is bad, need to come together. So, my olive branch is this: Bernie might have won. I don’t know. I do know that Bernie Sanders is a wonderful communicator who has always brought hard truths about our system to the forefront. He makes people excited. He has those mittens. And I think it’s just nice to have someone who is known for being furious express the anger we all have with some goddamn gravitas, Neil Young excepted. The debate about whether or not the dems should have had used Liz Cheney as a campaign surrogate is kinda dumb to me. I do not think anything Kamala Harris said or did made them lose votes. There are two reasons we lost the 2024 elections and if someone does not give my ass a book deal from this thesis alone, that’s their loss (Fuck you, amorphous publisher I invented in my head who has never heard of me). Reason one: People who might have voted for a democrat but stayed home just didn’t think Trump would win again. Same as 2016. Reason two: Democrats didn’t defend transgender people and immigrants. Part two of my thesis is a fire take, and I wish it were the temperature of stale bath water. Side note: You know when you get into the bath and your foot goes in and it’s feels like it’s scalding your very bones and then you get in the bath and it’s just sorta warm? What the fuck? Do I need to see a doctor? I wish that more people were talking about what I think is pretty self evident: When the GOP made that ad saying “Kamala Harris is for they/them” and no one from our side said a goddamn thing about how disgusting and inhumane the attack on transgender people, who make up less than one percent of the population, was and is, we seemed like a bunch of losers. We were a bunch of losers. The right is out here telling people that women belong in the kitchen and we really said “We’re not going back!” Excuse me? Why are we even entertaining the idea of going back on our bumper stickers? Why in 2024 were we having a national dialogue about whether we should go back to a shittier time? The moment Tim Waltz joined the ticket, the message was simply that the Republicans were “Sick freaks who everyone hates.” Weird losers who wanted to check people’s genitals and not get vaccinated for measles. If we had allowed brat summer to respond to the they/them ad, it might have looked like this: “Kamala is for they/ them, and you, because we’re not bigoted losers who are afraid of little boys playing with dolls. Go back to your cave and think about your life, and let the adults take care of the economy.” But that’s not what happened. We took the idea of meeting people where they are a little too far. Guys, don’t meet Nazis where they are. Now everything is fucked, and we have people sitting around talking about how maybe those DEI training sessions at work were too annoying and made everyone flock to Joe Rogan. No, DEI training is annoying because it’s part of work, which is annoying, but we are adults and we can do annoying things sometimes. Tech CEOs were pissed that they had to create a workplace that wasn’t toxic to anyone not named Tyler or Shaun and we just allowed them to have their soapbox because they paid for it. Maybe we should have pointed out that
Tiny Pies
Sometimes I think I am too medium smart. I wish I were stupid or extremely smart. If I were a genius at something then I could be miserable but also write the Great American Novel or Great American Tax Plan. Medium smart is like, you read the paper, you understand the words and kind of you understand the context and the deeper meaning, and you have some pretty interesting theories of why it is that way, but then your brain is kind of like “Ok, that’s good. We did some real hard thinking. Now you have to think about cheese and where your other sock is.” What a tease! Am I alone in this? Does anyone get the sense that if they could just absorb and process a little more without getting existentially tired and distracted by moving images or catchy jingles you could solve a ton of problems? Feed the world? Invent a new coding language? I feel like I am too stupid to even know what it is I could create with these amorphous powers of intellect I lack. And I am burdened, like the rest of us, with the dread and sadness that our world is teeming with people who are suffering at the hands of–get this–other people! What the fuck are we doing? It should be aliens trying to subjugate us, not unfuckable billionaire humans! Ugh. What if you could take a pill that made you stupid, like a reverse Limitless. I don’t mean just like alcohol or a nice edible, though sadly those are also out of bounds to me for other reasons [cop car sound effect]. I mean a pill you could take to be the kind of stupid where you aren’t miserable all the time because your appalling lack of curiosity only goes so far. You think you are smart, and on today’s internet you can confirm your beliefs with whatever misinfo slop you choose, and your dumb brain is just good with that. I’m talking about a pill that makes you Joe Rogan. I would honestly deal with living in Austin and having that weird fuchsia skin tone if I could have the confidence of a dumb idiot who thinks he is a genius. Sadly, I am deeply terrified of ever allowing myself to believe that I am smarter than I am. This fear is the personification of the dream where you’re back in school and didn’t study for any of the tests. I attended a 4/19 protest thingy and I was going to talk about MORE politics in today’s newsletter but guys, we need a break. It’s bunny day, and I want to tell you about tiny pies. But first! I had this idea for a screenplay based on an experience I had at an escape room in San Francisco a couple of years ago. I was with Garret’s dad (owner of the House of Froid and Chaud) and his wife-question-mark and also Garret’s sister, and we decided to book an escape room in the city. I love escape rooms, being medium smart, and I love introducing people to them and watching the varying reactions. It delights me to see what kind of problem solver people become in an enclosed environment, and it delights me equally when people respond with feigned enthusiasm or even indifference. I used to make the People of Earth cast do escape rooms and one of my fondest memories is everyone rushing around trying to communicate codes and clues to each other while Oscar Nuñez slowly ambled around the fake detective’s office picking things up at random and saying “Huh. That’s cool.” So I was pumped to observe this branch of Garret’s fam who had never done an escape game when we arrived at our appointed time to the rather gaudy street facing-escape roomerie (Red flag number one. How can an escape room company afford a storefront location in San Francisco? How did they escape those OVERHEADS??). The teenager who greeted us told us that to use the room with just us and no interlopers we would have to pay extra, and this was relevant because there were two people waiting to do a room, presumably with whoever showed up for the next time slot. We all agreed it would be fine to play with strangers, and told them to lead the way. When I said ‘we all agreed,’ I mean everyone who is normal and not a complete fucking control freak agreed and I became internally furious at these dorks who thought it would be a good idea to intrude on my special social experiment. I mean, come on, this is my Family and it is Christmas or whatever! The interlopers were two men, father and son or possibly uncle and nephew, who looked for all the world like they were on their way to a sporting event. I assumed this was their first escape room from their approach to each new puzzle, which I would describe as childlike awe and wonder. They were as unhelpful as they were affable, and my annoyance faded as the game wore on, because I am not a complete monster and they were excited. What still puzzles me to this DAY, chat, was that after the game finished and we said our goodbyes, the man and his son-nephew retired right back to the waiting area to join the next incomplete group! I saw them on my way to the bathroom and I asked them if our room was their first. They said they had been doing this all afternoon. I smiled and said my goodbyes and left and then I never stopped thinking about them. Is this a series? Maybe a short. Two people who just join other peoples escape rooms all day long. Maybe they are going to slowly, throughout the day, unpack some light family trauma, or deepen their inter-generational bond. I will play the evil asshole who is annoyed with them at first, because I hate acting. Tiny Pies
Nosfer-a-two
On D’arcy Every so often some dude will take to Reddit (I should just end there), and make a post on the Resident Alien sub about how much they hate D’arcy. Before you trouble yourself with reading this latest installment, know that I appreciate these posts. They often talk about D’arcy in terms used to describe any male antihero. Witness this choice quotashe: “Trust me, I totally understand her character, so far. No amount of trauma gives anyone the right to be that dangerous, that psychotic, that manipulative, that selfish and self-centered.” I’m sorry, are you talking about D’arcy bloom or WALTER WHITE? Are you talking about THE JOKER??? Also, hilariously, they used this absolutely stunning screencap of a scene I had completely forgotten about: This clip is from when I go to a town hall and do this extremely Arthur-Fonzarelli-coded move of telling this guy to give up his seat with my face. It’s funny because I am tiny and he is an old man just minding his business. It’s funny because it’s randomly aggressive, in a low-stakes way. The OP called D’arcy a “bully.” Sure. Okay. Whatever, loser. Get bent. You know who else was a bully on screen? That character from Step Brothers that made Ben Stiller absolutely convinced he needed to make a vehicle for Adam Scott worthy of his mighty genius talent. I can think of one on-screen example (having just decided to write about this four minutes ago, tbf) of a female bully-antihero that doesn’t get as much hate as D’arcy: Regina George of Mean Girls. What is the difference? Well, Rachel McAddams played Regina George and is a way better actor than me, younger and hotter (I do not care, do not write that I am hot in the comments, I beg you). Also, D’arcy is an adult, sort of. But I think more telling is that D’arcy almost never “bullies” the women characters of patience. It’s always guys. Chris wrote her that way, and it’s weird that no one ever picks up on this when they are whining about how mean she is. Regina George almost exclusively bullies women. She exists to hold other women down so that she can be the one who gets picked by the shockingly mid main dude. If you are triggered (snowflake) by the above-pictured scene, then I hope that means you have been randomly bullied by a woman. I like to imagine her out there, throwing her popcorn on you at the movies because your breathing too loud. But mainly, I read these posts with satisfaction of a job well done. However flawed my performance, I am hitting an extremely insecure man’s last nerve, and knowing this, I sleep like a baby. Now, on to where I sleep tonight. I am currently back in California en route to LA, stopping for two nights at Garret’s father’s house which some of you will remember as the House of Froid and Chaud. The titular Father is out with his wife (????) at, drumroll please, COMEDY NIGHT. No idea what that means. None. Reader, it’s so weird when relatives or close friends of mine go to see comedy that isn’t me. I get jealous and resentful even though I hate when relatives come to see me perform. It’s my nightmare! When I do stand up, I am in the workiest work mode. I am clocked the fuck in. Stand-up is a realm you have to really break into by force, and once you’re in there’s a whole code of conduct and lingo and general focus that anyone who does not do stand up will miss, and my co-dependence makes me note their presence as an alarming disturbance on my peripheral. I feel encumbered and I have had some of my worst sets when family is present. Including my cast family from Resident Alien! I have to actually sneak around to do shows there when I am filming because they get mad at me when I don’t tell them. AND YET! I found out about G’s dad going to some random comedy night and I was like “Quick question: what the fuck?” I have not the energy to investigate my lizard brain telling me this non-problem is a problem, because it’s getting late and I have to finish this newsletter before they get back and inevitably want to talk about the show. At which time I will be completely annoyed and fascinated. Also I have been in the side office off the guest suite (read original Nosferatu review for context) and I can feel Garret about to come in and tell me to use a coaster. In other news: WE DID IT! We managed to fuck up Elon’s week with the Wisconsin supreme court. Early numbers showing it was…yes! It was the Alice Wetterlund patreon subscribers that tipped the balance. Everyone, a milkshake or dairy treat of your choice, if you partake. That was the beginning of some relatively not-the-worst political news among the other stuff which was of course the worst. Turns out there are people who regret their vote for Trump, yay, but only because they are slightly less rich, nay. Score one point for…humanity’s base instincts eating their own tail in an ouroboros of greed. But also! Corey Booker gave a speech which, however you feel about him, erased the record of the longest speech in congress from a racist who just read the encyclopedia! That is good. It just is. And I think he should have said more about the horrors in Palestine, but I’m wary of diminishing an inspiring moment from the non-greedsnake side. We need the momentum. I think it’s ok to have the conversation and keep Gaza in the forefront, and it’s also a good thing for Corey Booker to talk about defunding Alzheimer’s research and medicate and civil rights being eroded and 800 other things because unfortunately, you can easily fill 25 hours with all the shit the Trump Movement has done without even really getting
Susan, I texted my ex.
This week was the last true week of filming on RA. I have complicated feelings about the wrap this season and some of the reasons for that are actually spoilers (no one dies, which technically is also a spoiler that I could get in trouble for but I like to break rules and also I feel you are all special and deserve a little treat). I can only discuss so much of what I am going through up here as we finish season four, and I want to write about it, but it’s a minefield of spoilers and personal information I can’t unravel without a legal team and a therapist, and I need to save those things for going back to america. Though I will be sad to physically leave my apartment here in Vancouver (photo of view included in post) I am anxious to get back home so that I can know what it feels like to be down there. I got here in December of 2024, I went home briefly for the holidays, and then returned to Canada in January of 25. The country that I left is not the one I will be returning to, and that terrifies me. I cannot know what it feels like to be there until I am there, I don’t know if people in the U.S. are experiencing the horrors the way I imagine they would. Because of my absence I actually feel like an imposter. I wasn’t there when my city burned down, and I wasn’t there when they started letting the foreign billionaire dismantle the parts of the government that take care of people, and I wasn’t there when they started sending the masked plainclothes agents to abduct people for improper ideologies. This side of the border is where the news is pretty much still doing the news. The democratic government by and large is chugging along, slowly but surely meting out the will of the people, and the leaders are reacting to the Fascist with measured yet appropriate alarm. All that and ketchup flavored chips? If Margaret Atwood were here right now, would she tell me to stay on this side and have Garret pack the cats into a single carrier and pretend they are one cat and try to sneak them through customs? Would I listen? I think I would, if only to the part about the cats. I would love it if Margaret Atwood really dug in on pet-smuggling practices and then we decided to collaborate on a screenplay about the Rise of Gilead from the perspective of a cat. I feel like if you get the right border agent, they will look at my 14 year old cats shoved into a single sweater labeled “Freakish Two-Headed Service Cat” and just wave me through, because -Ooof. Hypothetical cat-based script collab aside, I wouldn’t stay. I have to be where the action is. I am just extremely that bitch. Maybe you have had the conversation with friends or co-twerkers where someone says “When the zombie apocalypse comes, I’m out. Just kill me.” Chat, I’m always the first person to say “Oh, not me. Zombie time is when I will become activated.” Garret and I like to make up doomsday squad brackets with our friend groups and decide who we would take with us to the bunker or the forest. Garret usually picks all women and him because he is a horny creep and we love that for him. His fantasy of the Great Disaster is that he will have a harem of women cooking delicious meals from the subsistence farm he tends. My fantasy is that I will have many guns and muscles, and that I will never, ever be afraid. Today I have no illusions about what we are getting wrong in these imagined scenarios. I know that not every female friend garret has is that good at cooking, and I know that when the grid comes down I won’t be some fearless warrior on the frontlines. I know I will be afraid, because right now I am in Canada sitting on a literal tuffet I am very, very afraid. What scares me is what I have wrong about my non-fantasy version of events. How tired I might get when it’s time to figure out how to secure my data so that I don’t get scooped up for saying the wrong thing online. How will my deep disinterest in getting to know my neighbors foil my plans for any mutual aid networks I might participate in. How real will it feel, and even more frightening, what if we don’t feel it at all? What if we don’t feel the water boiling because we are frogs and it was pretty warm in the first place? Are you also scared now, too? Sorry sorry sorry. I love you, but I had to. Because the next thing I say is very important: You might not know how to grow kale or shoot a gun, but to help the people we need to help right now, you don’t have to. On Tuesday there is a special election in Wisconsin that will determine a great deal of what will happen over the next few years. If you already know why this race is so important, skip this part and go to the next paragraph. From the AP: “The upcoming election on Tuesday, filling a seat held by a liberal justice who is retiring, will determine whether Wisconsin’s highest court will remain under 4-3 liberal control or flip to a conservative majority.” Elon Musk has already spent 13 million doll hairs to swing this election to the conservative, who would uphold abortion bans as well as any and every new bullshit shenanigan the right comes up with to make voting in Wisconsin prohibitively difficult. The consequences of a loss would be enormous, but the gains from a win could mean even more. The race is a referendum on Musk’s ability to buy elections in the
What Day is It
Hello Wetterheadz. I miss you all. The following passage was written on the ferry back from Ladysmith. We’re down to our last week of filming, and the week before last I had to do a week where I worked every day. Every day! I do not know how anyone does this. I guess it’s easier if your job isn’t crying intermittently for three hours at a time but then again based on what I know about office jobs, maybe it is. Anyway, do excuse the deafening silence when there’s spotty newsletter service right now, it will get a little more regular once I am back to my regularly scheduled 0 schedule of any kind. Quick update about the background man: I did not end up talking to him about his weird question because last time I saw him seemed fine and also I didn’t really have a good opportunity. But he is ok. One day I will tell you all who it was. Ok this part is from the ferry: The internet will not let me do my favorite thing (12 things at once) So I am forced to write in silence punctuated by the man behind me coughing oldly like he’s a member of Congress. If I could make the internet flow freely I would be listening to Dean debate Trump* supporters on tiktok which is quite simply the least comforting thing you can imagine. I don’t prescribe to the “we’re cooked lol” mentality, it’s too pessimistic and smug for me. Pessimism doesn’t isolate you from suffering, it’s just a shitty little costume you wear to pretend you were ahead of the curve when things go to shit. No thanks! I was ahead of the curve on Elon Musk and that experience has me never wanting to correctly anticipate anything ever again. There is very little reward in being right about something awful before everyone else. Ask pretty much any black woman ever. Even if the entire world had heard what I had to say, the best possible example of vindication is just… Hillary Clinton. Maybe in two thousand years Hillary will be like Joan of Arc and descendant of Chappel Roan will write a song about her before being credibly accused of something atrocious like assaulting a robot. We have but one life on spaceship earth and I have become pessimistic about pessimism. I would rather experience life as a goldfish. Half the people who voted in 2025 are experiencing the sensation of existential I-fucking-told-you-so and I think we can all agree that it’s the itch that cannot be scratched. For every farmer or firefighter losing everything as a direct result of having done the thing we told them not to do, there are multiple innocent people who are F.O. in spite of not having F.A. Especially when most of the people that put us in this situation are not able to make the logical leap necessary to understand their mistake. Which brings us back to Dean. This little 20 year old person Dean Withers streams on TikTok for about 5 hours a day debating the supporters of the bad man. It’s a lot like listening to talk radio in the 90’s except instead of ads he thanks listeners for direct donations in between “calls.” Which reminds me! Thank you for subscribing! I love you! Welcome Paul Dickinson, thank you for becoming a subscriber! In addition to listening to the Sarah Longwell focus group podcasts, I listen to Dean every week take calls from people who threw their vote into a festering garbage disposal filled with mystery goo because it wasn’t a black woman. Both Longwell and Withers demonstrate immense patience with what I can only describe as the stupidest people on the planet. It’s not comforting or satisfying, in fact it’s a bit like a radiation bath for your mental health. But it’s informative. And folks! When I say stupid, I mean goofy. Misinformed on almost every issue, intellectually incurious, emotionally stunted and selfish as fuck. It’s certainly a product of our broken education system that people are stupid, but it’s cultural too. I don’t think we should blame poor people for being poor, uneducated people for not being educated, or lonely people for being isolated. But I don’t think we should treat people who have access to google like they are hapless victims of a system when they are actively supporting said system. Stupid is almost a nice term for people like the guy who said “illegals” should not enter the country because it would be like “letting intruders into your home.” Dean asked this man if he believes there should be open borders between Ohio and Indiana. When the man said yes, he asked if the people from Ohio should be allowed to enter the man’s home uninvited. The man said “Letting people into your home is different than having open borders.” Sir? Sir. Come on. Let’s do both things. Lets not gentle parent the nation. We need to expect better from our neighbors. But we also can’t just dunk on people on instagram or laugh at them on tiktok and expect them to warm to the idea that there’s a better way. I listen to Trump voters because I am looking for humanity where I assume there is none. The bar is in hell, so we’re not going to call on our better angels (see what I did there) to fix this. It really sucks that a mentally ill narcissist has activated the worst impulses in such a large group of people, but they are just people. And so, instead of asking ourselves and whoever is in screaming distance what the fuck is wrong with people, I am trying to remember 1. That people are people 2. So WHY should it be, that you and I should get along so awfully? I mean it. What’s up with people? This election cycle has made me want to know more and listen for the things
Welcome to Tonights Show
Ladies and Gents, and everyone in between, I am happy to announce that I will once again be appearing live, on stage, in a stand-up comedy show. It’s in Canada, and I don’t know how many of you live where but I could find out if I wanted to. Sorry to threaten you in the middle of the newsletter. I just…have stalkers. And now, so do you, but it’s me, and I want you to know I do not plan to escalate! Since this newsletter is late* and I have to write a set for the show, I thought I’d go through some material I want to cover in the set tonight and work it out in front of you. It’s a behind the scenes look at my mental process for joke writing. As mentioned we are in Canada, and since the USA is being particularly cunty to Canada at the moment I will open the set by telling them that I am here to shit on America and directly pander to their nationalism. I know, cheap, but also timely and I haven’t been on stage in like 6 months so I would like to be coddled a little bit. I’m baby. I have this very very short joke about how the phrase “These Colors Don’t Run” is about laundry, and it doesn’t really fit anywhere and has never had a real set up, so for tonight I will try a new way of framing it: So one thing that is cool about the fall of America is that you get to stop pretending like patriotism isn’t super lame. Like, you guys are on some “Canada rocks!” vibe right now which is valid and I love that for you. But, patriotism in general is for dummies and it’s so, so dumb in the states. Like, American meatheads will always say ‘These colors don’t run.’ Have you heard that one? ‘These colors don’t run!’ You see, because the Red White and Blue is so tough. It won’t run from a fight. It’s a big manly phrase for big tough manly American man. But it’s a double entendre about fucking laundry. I’m sorry are we doing chore slogans? In America, we take out the trash. This is the USA. We know when to hold em, and when to fold em, and how to fold em, even if it’s a fitted sheet. How about that? Good luck to me, hopefully more or less saying that verbatim in two hours. Then, on to something I will very likely never say again because I just thought of it: Immigration is one of the reasons it all fell apart. And immigration is a real pickle in the US. The fascists hate the immigrants. It’s their main thing, that and not understanding how to contour their makeup or wear pants that fit. But the left isn’t that much better! You’ll get well-meaning liberals trying to defend immigrants saying: “We’re all immigrants.” And you’re like well. We’re not, though. Like bring me your huddled masses is all fine and good, right? The idea of an inclusive, free society where people can flee tyranny is rad. But not if you put that society where people already are living and you did not ask them if you could have some huddled masses over this weekend for a hangout. Like hey is it chill if I bring eight million starving Irish people who hate you here? Also, inevitably, within one generation, that huddled mass is going to get entitled as fuck. Every generation of immigrants always hates all the other immigrants after them. It’s like when you adopt a cat you’re like wow I am a hero, I have saved this sweet being and it’s fine until you adopt a second cat. The old cat is like you are not a hero, I am now going to pee on everything you own. So, that is all new stuff I have never said before. In general, I do not write out my bits like this and I never memorize. It works to write out and memorize if you’re developing material like a professional and have 30 shows and open mics to try the wording out, but I am only one half of booked and busy at all times and it’s not the booked part. So generally I try to just say them out loud to myself in the car at the very most. When I get onstage, I instantly have to assess the best way to communicate in that environment and to that audience the gist of my premise. It’s very fun and very scary and I love it. Since the immigration stuff is all new, I don’t want to cram anything else new into this set, but I simply MUST address the Elonphant in the room (I won’t say that that was just for you). My Elon jokes are good and fine and do well, but I’ve talked about this two posts ago, I don’t want anyone in my audience ever to think that I think being hot is empirically important. Here’s the joke as written before I get ahead of myself: Just because someone drives a Tesla doesn’t mean they are bad people. My thing about Elon is that if you’re going to be richer than god, and you’re going to be going on my tv, the least you can do is [pause for emphasis] be hot. Like do you know how much money I spend on creams to do this job? And he’s going on snl looking like mr. potato head without his parts? Heh. That potato head thing is pretty strong, and I physically may be unable to change it since I have said that line so many times and it was hard to get it all enunciated and perfect, but I’m not that tied to it. The most important thing is that I continue to drag him here and imply that he should have plastic surgery. And that
Nosferatu Review
Although I watched this movie over two months ago in earth time and thirty five years ago in relative 2025 time (wildfires, hostile coup by technocratic oligarchs, Infinity Nikki), this review is going to be spoiler-free and light on…actual facts about the movie I talk about. Haha, sorry! You might still be entertained, because the context I watched this movie in will heavily feature in the review, and so it’s like a review of a thing that can only be experienced by this review! Have I invented a new kind of review? I am only one paragraph in! Picture it, you’re at your boyfriend’s fathers very nice house in Northern California. The guest bathroom has Froid and Chaud on the faucet handles instead of hot and cold. Their kitchen has one of those faucets over the range for filling a giant pot of water like you’re Strega Nona up in this bitch. Pretty hoity fuckin toity, down to the last detail which is that they don’t have a TV anywhere, just jazz records and stacks of New Yorkers. So, we’re all bored. I can only go on so many hikes and secret trips to the Trader Joe’s to buy actual junk food that does not involve flax or fresh persimmon compote. Suffice to say we had arrived at movie viewing evening, and we needed something highbrow, but exciting and new. Cultured, yet chaud. Like you, we heard that Nosferatu was pretty good and so twas decided. Myself, Garret, his Father and wife, and his sister all piled into the least comfortable movie viewing room I have ever known. There is a smol, only kind-of-comfy leather couch flanked by two hard backed chairs that Dad and wife always occupy so that the couch can be for guests. So not only are you slippin’ around on a leather couch but also you’re sitting right next to people who think hard backed chairs are appropriate movie viewing chairs like some ascetic monks with a netflix account. The whole time you’re vaguely aware that they would be on the couch if not for you. Or would they?! Are they kinky FREAKS who like to sit far away from each other and watch Challengers? To make matters worse there is a poodle who cannot decide what the fuck is going on and will just stare at you with her too-smart eyes as you interrupt the movie to beg her just to sit on the couch with you. Chat, it’s a whole thing! But aaaaanyway, we each grabbed a sensible portion of heirloom popped corn and hunkered slightly down for some nice creepy scary movie times because the only other thing we could do is talk to each other. Family. Now, I love a scary movie. I am rarely actually scared watching them as I am unable to be subsumed by any narrative that includes monsters or ghosts or any plot holes whatsoever. And slasher movies have gone out of style since the scream series which is weird since they are the scariest ones and also the probably the cheapest to make. It’s just like, a guy, and some blood and random people running and screaming? You don’t even really have to buy clothes for the girls in them! Why are we not making more slasher films? Maybe it’s because of woke. So I really enjoy horror as a genre and I was excited for Nosferatu because it’s a horror movie, right? *Queen Amidala face* Right? An aside about Bill Skarsgaard: I met him once in Canada and he’s sweet as almost every Swedish person I have ever known is, but on the evening I met him he was also very, very flirtatious. Swedes are flirty, and it’s really direct and can be disconcerting. You know when a dog goes right for your crotch and it’s not suuuper inappropriate because it’s a dog, but also, you’re in public? It was like that but more ominous, because he’s Bill Skarsgaard. So, a werewolf. Perfect casting! So I like, get it. The conceit here is not to do a scary movie, but a slightly eerie movie about a super scary sexy guy. Like what if the grossest spookiest guy was actually…hot, actually? And thus we arrive at problem a) Gross Womanizing Anti Hero Story is played all the way out. I have watched it, read it, lived it, watched it again, for what seems like many lifetimes now and yeah. We just don’t have a new way to tell the story of a man who is not worth shit but inexplicably finds hot women drawn to him. Not, anyway, from Robbie Eggers, who’s innovation seems to be…black and white? Like, why am I watching Manhattan? At least that was a bit of a romp and it had Diane Keaton. I think if Diane Keaton were in this film she would be cast as a Crone who tells Nos he’s a real schmuck who needs a new psychoanalyst, and then they’d have a cup of coffee together. 10/10 Would watch. The other problem is that this isn’t even a new take on actual Nosferatu. Unless you consider really fleshing out the lawfair of 1830’s estate management a new take. I cannot believe I watched Nicholas Hoult go on a business trip. Maybe that was the conceit: Instead of writing a character that is a new kind of grievously evil antihero that womanizes his way to his own demise, what if we don’t write anything at all and then put some gross stuff on a guy with abs? Listen, you had me at abs. And look, one scene in we realized that this was going to be an uncomfortable watch, and not just because of the furniture. Ellen, our main lady, played by Lily Rose Depp, is writhing and orgasming spookily on screen the moment the film begins. So, buckle up, it’s one of those nights. I prepared myself for two hours of throat clearing at overtly sexual content whilst sitting amongst my
Background Thoughts – There and Backroundagain
Garret says I am right a lot of the time but that my truths come too early, before the people are ready. This has to be the kind of thing your live-in partner says to you so that you will stop complaining about no one listening to you so they can have a moment’s peace. It’s also the type of thing that I will not interrogate at all because it feels true: Certainly I must be the Paul Revere of opinions about comedy, feminism and whatever else I am going on about. The Elon thing really gets to me, because I TOLD YOU ALL. But did I? Did I really? Let’s see, I said he was a toxic grifter with a shitty sense of style (which is the other bellwether for potential villains: young men who are careless about their aesthetic when they are in the public eye because they think they are above it (Zuck, Elon, Dave from Love is Blind S8)). But let’s be so for real right now: I never said he was going to become Government Godzila. And yes, I should very likely have at least a weekly slot on MSNBC or something but that’s like, kinda everyone? The point is, I am smart, I pay attention, and I have had a lot of my predictions about the nature of gender politics bear out in the most disconcerting ways, but I’m not fucking psychic and I do miss things. A week ago I told you the sordid tale of someone I barely knew asking me something that made me really uncomfortable. I gave you the context that I had at the time so you would be able to understand why it made me uncomfortable, and what lessons I think people in man-shaped bodies should take from it. Nothing I am about to tell you should negate any of that. But, uh, new reports are coming in. Beep-beep-beep, news alert sound: We are hearing that the guy who I said was a veritable stranger to me was actually a guy I have worked with for the past three seasons post Ozempic. I have worked with this man for seven years, and he looks completely different. I did not, and still do not, visually recognize him as the same person. So, now I have to go back over every interaction I have had this year with him and see if I am being rude or he is being extra so that I can determine whether I owe him an apology or not. It’s like some kind of social anthropology cold case. UGH. I could not possibly give less of a shit about ozempic. I don’t really have any direct experience with any of the issues people face which might prompt them to take such a drug, nor do I think weight loss is mandatory for good health. My personal trainer does, and he knows not to open that can of worms with me because I will literally put worms in his cans if he tries that shit. Since we know that even doctors are not always trustworthy when it comes to treating fat people because of their prejudice, I’m not listening to anyone who isn’t a doctor about weight loss and health. Also, I don’t comment on people’s appearance when it involves things outside their control. I will make exceptions for Elon Musk, who is ugly as hell, but one of the main reasons that he is ugly is that he exists. He should stop that. It is gross and it’s a real turn off. Also! I am just assuming that he used a drug to lose weight because that is a thing now! He could have had any number of experiences in or outside of his control! I do not know anything! Well, that’s not true. I know that if your appearance change is drastic to the extent that you have had multiple people not recognize you even after staring into your eyes, you do maybe want to go ahead and say “Hi, it’s me, I look very different, but I am this person that you know from a year and a half ago.” Or is that being some kind of ism?? Please for the love of Pete tell me how I can get cancelled, I need the Netflix special. I feel like the wrap up to this story has to be something from an 2000’s era teen movie where there’s a voiceover like “This summer I thought I knew it all, that I had nothing to learn. Boy was I wrong. The thing I really learned was that I don’t really know anything at all. And that’s a good thing.” Resident Alien S4 Check in: We read the final two episodes in our last table read of season four and I am having feelings. I of course cannot say more than that here, but I am fragile enough emotionally that I have found comfort in this google game. I know that all tech companies are evil and all we can do is cower in our various IP corners until they turn their techno-feudal eye of Sauron on us and decide to replace us with 6 fingered AI avatars with better boobs, but this game is charming. It reminds me of when the internet was a magical place where you could stumble upon cool things made by cool people, for free, just for fun. Bonus short bloglet: Reading the news is like a wall of poison fire coming at you and your only hope is holding on to the fender (???) of a Cybertruck. I read news analysis because while it doesn’t help with the wall of fire or the being-dragged-along-the-ground-at-speed thing, it does help me get a better grip on the fender, if that makes sense. Or maybe it’s just: “Wow there are rocks down my pants. I know exactly how they got there.”
Background Thoughts
Before I became the massive A-list celebrity star that I am now, I did some background work in New York when I was taking Improv 101 at a little known pyramid scheme called The Upright Citizens Brigade. The most notable project I worked on was Nick and Nora’s infinite playlist, where I played a person attending Michael Cera’s band’s show at a cool, Brooklyn bar. After debasing myself to that extent, you might think I would have run screaming from the entire movie industry, but actually it was kinda fun. I learned a lot, mostly about the hierarchy of important people on set, and what it feels like to be at the very bottom. Being a great background actor literally means you completely fade into the background, and that can be a little dehumanizing. The upper echelons of the call sheet really do treat you like set dressing, because in a sense, you are. Most background players are cool with this. It’s a pretty good temp job, especially if you live somewhere where there are laws about paying people living wages. Honestly the very worst part is getting stuck acting with another background actor who is unhinged. Many times you will be clumped in groups of two or three and you have to be on set with these people all day, and while filming you have to idiotically pretend to have conversations, or dance to different non-existent beats with them without making any noise at all. I had to do it the other day for a scene where D’arcy is hanging out at the bar, and TBH I was blown away by the skill of the two actors I was mime-talking to. They were subtle and deft and ultra consistent, even though it feels like you are having a stroke while you are sitting across from someone who is also having a stroke. The whole thing is so awkward. You’re also not supposed to talk to the principal (featured guest or series regulars or “stars”) actors unless spoken to, like some kind of serf. I hated that feeling when I was doing background work and I’m aware of how uncomfortable it must be, even for professionals. which to be crystal clear, I was NOT. One obvious reason for not interacting with principal actors during filming is that there is almost no moment, especially these days, when you’re on a hot set and you’re not being given notes about performance, or where to stand, where to look, or being touched or handed things by a hundred different departments. Principal actors are busy and often take any precious spare moment to ready themselves for the next take or scene. They really don’t give you time to rehearse anymore unless you’re in a prestige TV show or a movie with a Hemsworth in it. Also, it’s a slippery slope. If one background actor starts up a conversation with anyone on set, everyone starts talking, it’s just human. And then all the people who have to talk about lights and flags and shit can’t hear each other and it slows you down, and then Tom Paris from Voyager comes in and YELLS at you and you are inexplicably turned on. So, keep all that in mind for the following anecdote: There is what one might call a featured background actor who frequently appears on a certain set. I know him well enough for him to say hello to me, and for me to not recognize him completely but smile vaguely when he does so, one time. That kinda thing, which is fine, because I have only worked with him a handful of times and he has only had direct contact with me once before. So during a moment when there wasn’t too much going on, and I wasn’t being noted or touched up, he asked me, “Hey Alice, can I ask you something? Do you do your own replies and things for your social media?” I pretended to be very distracted and annoyed by something happening to my left and just said “No.” Now, chat, we know this isn’t true. I run my own discord. I love talking with the people who appreciate what I do, in general. But I knew that if I spoke the truth when he asked me that there would inevitably be follow up questions. And after that first one, hoo boy, did I not want to interact with this person at all. To be fair, to me, this guy hasn’t been the best background actor. He’s been spoken to before about making a meal out of moments he needed to keep it moving so the scene could progress with the proper rhythm. But as I walked away from that interaction, I became actually resentful, and for the rest of the day it stuck in my craw. My craw guys, and not in a caramel corn way where you are remembering how good that Chicago mix was. I get that there was no malice to his question, and maybe it seems like a fair enough ask to some of you. Maybe he wanted to network with me, or he’s a fan of my work, and wanted to chat. I don’t think that’s bad! Like I said, I don’t feel super comfortable with the weird hierarchy that the call sheet dictates. But here is what it felt like for me, the other person in that exchange: I felt violated. I know, the big V! Look, as much as I don’t want to assign ill intention to someone who was just shootin’ the proverbial shit, I simply must fortify the boundaries on who has access to my personal space both online and IRL. I have learned the hard way what happens when I don’t. Also, I have been stalked, I have been assaulted, and that is not because I am a famous-ish person or I let some fan talk to me for too long at a convention. It’s because I possess the other big