The work of Brit Marling, the screenwriter and actress behind Netflix’s 2016 puzzle box The OA, can only be described as interestingly flawed. That series, her debut as a showrunner, was a saga of dimension-hopping and imprisonment, co-starring Phyllis from The Office and featuring a school shooting thwarted by synchronized dance. And that’s barely scratching the surface of its weirdness. That Marling was the creative force behind the cult-hit films Sound of My Voice and Another Earth (both 2011) merely adds to her intrigue. Like all artists with a slightly too specific vision, Marling produces content that repels and entices in equal measure. Yet it’s hard not to think she could create something thrilling if she aimed only a little more broadly.
Now that a unanimous Supreme Court has issued a formal code of conduct for itself, its leftist critics should stop jawboning against the bench as though it were a haven for corruption.
Sometimes when we talk about politics we communicate information: the tax rate, the retirement age, the size of the national debt. But sometimes we seem to be doing something else. We express ourselves through words, but what we’re really offering is a combination of purrs, growls, and waving flags: positive or negative sentiments and wishes of affiliation or disaffiliation with movements or individuals. In their new book The Politics of Language, Texas linguist David Beaver and Yale philosopher Jason Stanley (also a popular pundit and theorist of the alleged rise of fascism in America) claim that this aspect of our expressions, which they call resonance, is the essence not just of political language, but of all language — that “meaning” simply is a matter of resonance. Our words and sentences are not boxes that contain “contents” but tools we use to connect to others, to gain their support, or push them around, or hurt them. The Politics of Language is a truly impressive offering which synthesizes an enormous breadth of research to develop this ambitious new theory. And, in doing so, it preserves as though in amber a short, already-fading “vibe” of academic and cultural politics: the vibe of woke.
America is, despite its difficulties, a good country. Similarly, its military, though suffering under horrendous leadership, has some of the best people.
As a former editor of Popular Mechanics magazine, I’ve asked many scientists and tech entrepreneurs how they first fell in love with science and technology. Most mention stories that captivated them when they were young. For some, it was the classic science fiction of Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, or Ursula Le Guin. Others fell under the spell of Star Wars or Star Trek. They were all drawn to the kind of speculative fiction that asked what sorts of worlds humans might be capable of building. Science fiction, at least in its pre-dystopian era, imbued American culture with the idea that anything was within humanity’s grasp. In turn, that spirit helped make high-tech breakthroughs possible by inspiring bright young misfits to pursue mastery of difficult fields. Companies like Apple and SpaceX might not exist today if not for the generations of nerds who grew up on Star Trek and now spend their lives trying to “make it so.”
It appears hip-hop artist Snoop Dogg’s enthusiasm for marijuana has gone up in smoke. The rapper sent shockwaves throughout the cannabis community by announcing on Instagram that he was “giving up smoke.” He’s been a longtime proponent of the dangerous narcotic but has taken a different stance on the herb in recent months. The announcement by Snoop Dogg, whose real name is Calvin Broadus Jr., was unexpected.
Rep. George Santos (R-N.Y.) took to social media Thursday evening after the House Ethics Committee released a scathing report about his potential federal crimes, calling politics and the report “dirty.” “What the ‘ethics committee’ did today was not part of due process, what they did was poison…the jury pool on my on going investigation with...