Times x 3: Three Articles from The New York Times, Sunday, April 1, 2018

Devorah Blachor, “Gen-X Activism: An Oral History,” p. SR-2

As a Generation-Xer (born in 1965, one year after the baby boom had ended), I can chuckle at my demographic cohort’s foibles and obsessions.  (Marcia Brady hit in the nose with a football!  Ha ha ha ha!)  However, this essay’s supposedly-humorous promulgation of the apolitical, socially-apathetic X-men and -women stereotype, as a way to remember “what came before” today’s Millennial/Generation Z/whatever activists, irritates me.  During the Eighties and Nineties, many Xers involved themselves in fighting racism, sexism, militarism, economic inequality, and other societal ills, though you wouldn’t have known that from the corporate-owned, establishment-friendly news media, including the Times, which has always found the status quo profitable.  (I myself wrote myriad letters to newspapers—published letters—during my younger days.)

Anyway, allegedly quoting members of my generation (“Patrick Bateman wasn’t available”), Blachor disses the heck out of us—well, the more well-off members; one guy contends that Xers eschewed voting because “we were all very busy going to law school and trying to get through ‘Infinite Jest.’ ”  Another guy had a different educational experience: “Sometimes I’d skip school to show how much I rejected, like, completely everything.”  (No mature, serious, politically-minded person would want to skip school for any reason.  School’s always an enlightened place.)  A woman says “Girl power!” and nothing else.  Yet another guy, when asked about social change, replies “Social what, now?”  Oh, and let us not forget Donkey Kong Jr., flannel shirts, Carrie Bradshaw shoes, and Starbucks.  What would a satirical Xer retrospective look like from the viewpoint of African-Americans (the Eighties-Nineties wars on crime and drugs decimated the black population) or gays (ditto with AIDS for their population during that period; even Mike Brady himself was HIV-positive) or radical feminists (bye-bye, reproductive rights, starting with Reagan)?

I did like this line: “In those day [sic], there were no red pills or blue pills. There were just chill pills.”


Frank Bruni, “Beware the Former Trumpers,” p. SR-3

The Times, which epitomizes liberal bias according to right-wing critics, rarely interviews any left-wingers or progressives or even left-of-center centrists.  Instead, no matter which political party occupies the White House, we see endless column space devoted to red (not as in Communist) personages sharing their deepest thoughts on why Caucasians, the wealthy, and turning certain countries into radioactive parking lots freakin’ rule, man.  Times columnist Frank Bruni thus interviews the extremely non-blue political commentator Ann Coulter, one of the most prominent of disillusioned Trump supporters.  A yuge influence on his anti-(brown)-immigrant proposals, she praises that “coarse vulgarian” for ignoring “the opinions of Manhattan socialites” by depicting Mexico as the source of all crime and degeneracy during the campaign, then laments that “something switched Nov. 8. Suddenly it was: ‘Please like me, Goldman Sachs.’ ”  However, she thinks Trump can save his presidency by fulfilling his biggest campaign promise: building The Wall®, never mind that Mexico will never pay for it: “His voters absolutely do not care. It was just a fun chant.”  Anyway, “In 10 years, if we just stopped giving Mexico foreign aid, we’d pay for it.”  Of course Coulter, who considers racist sentiment “fun”, doesn’t mind slamming Mexico’s economy and harming its citizens; respectable American pundits always show blithe disregard for non-white foreign lives if those lives interfere with military and corporate objectives.

By the way, I recommend reading the expanded on-line version of this interview, where she contends she’d advised Trump not to let Jared and Ivanka advise him: “[W]hen J.F.K. made Bobby his attorney general, the press pulled its nose out of J.F.K.’s butt just long enough to criticize him for that.  We don’t like nepotism.  We’re Americans.  This is third-world behavior.”  Ah, the butt-slash-Third-World reference—talk about shithole countries, right?  Coulter and her (former?) hero, Trump, always return to that golden oldie, racism.


Claire Almand, “It’s Now or Never for a 30-Year-Old Virgin,” p. ST-5

The Times’s Styles section occasionally prints somewhat grim essays from twentysomething and thirtysomething women bemoaning their prolonged virginity; examples of this genre include “Does My Virginity Have a Shelf Life?” and “My Virginity Went from Choice to Burden.”  Not every gal has enjoyed the privilege of sexual healing, the Times apparently wants to remind its well-adjusted (as in schtupping) readers as a public service laced with but-for-the-grace-of-that-pimp-daddy-God flattery.

Claire Almand herself lost her virginity at age thirty to “a middle school teacher” she “didn’t even particularly like”, because she thought she would die.  “Born with congenital heart disease, I had five major heart operations before I was 10 and have five minor heart operations since.”  Now a mysterious condition has sapped her of energy and caused her to lose “12 pounds”, making her look “awful”; fortunately, the teacher who would de-hymenize her thought she “looked thin and hot.”  All right, that line’s sort of amusing, in an ironic way.  Unlike the other virginity chronicles, Almand’s contains intentional, self-deprecatory humor, something welcome to alleviate the mental and emotional pain, at least for the reader; e.g., after telling us how she’s fallen for so many unattainable guys, Almand drily writes “So what I’m saying is I have impeccable taste in men.”  Also, during her first date with the teacher, it turned out “he didn’t know what a poached egg was.”  (“Poached,” ha ha ha ha, sincerely.)  And the essay sports one of the greatest concluding sentences in Times history (SPOILER ALERT): “And now I’m just like every other woman who’s had a penis inside her.”  Butt and penis, yes, in the same issue.

Also, the essay features a drawing of a woman with a giant circular hole in her chest, from the shoulders to the navel, providing a clear view right though to the other side.  I assume the drawing refers to (ANOTHER SPOILER ALERT) Almand’s condition, “a significant hole” in her heart, though the idea of a significant hole, in this instance, takes on sexual connotations.  (Ask Courtney Love—another Gen-X reference.)

Copyright © 2018 by David V. Mattthews

April 1, 2018 (revised April 2, 2018)



Sluggerz Sports Bar:

“You wanna know why I didn’t come to work today?” Jeff asked.

“Sure,” Denton said.

Jeff took a swig from his beer bottle.  “My grandma died last night.”

“Damn.  I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks.  She was admitted to the hospital just a few hours earlier.  She died before I could visit her.”

“That sucks.”


“So what did she die of?”

“Pneumonia, allegedly.”


“The doctor they gave her was named Marla Rosenberg.


“Guess I shouldn’t’ve posted that JQ stuff, huh?”  (JQ meant Jewish Question in alt-right argot.)

“Yeah, ha ha.”

No response.

“You serious?”

No response.

“Come on, Jeff.  Old people die of pneumonia all the time.  And your grandma was old as hell, no offense.”

“Thanks, rabbi.”

“The Jews aren’t behind everything.”

Shalom, rabbi.”

“That paranoid crap hurts our cause.”


Neither man said anything for a few moments.


“At least it wasn’t Dr. Apu for a change, in the hospital,” Denton said.

Jeff smiled.

“There we go.  Your grandma would have wanted you to smile.”

“I guess.”

“To her.”

“To her.  And to paranoia.”

Denton hesitated a moment.

“What the hell—to paranoia,” he said.

They clinked their beer bottles together.

Copyright © 2017 by David V. Matthews
July 8-9, 2017 (revised July 16, 2017)

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #20: Free Helicopter Ride

Denton’s supervisor, Ms. Birch, caught him posting on his alt-right blog as she walked past his cubicle.  She told him to get back to work and left.

“Ms. Bitch needs a free helicopter ride,” he told his coworker Jeff later in the break room, using alt-right argot.  (South-American dictatorships used to eliminate their political opponents by dropping them from helicopters into the sea.)

“No, you should give her Ebola instead,” Jeff replied.  “Maybe she’d infect a bunch of snowflakes.  More cost-effective, in other words.”

What a true friend, Denton thought as he reached for a cruller.  True friendship rocks.

Copyright © 2017 by David V. Matthews


Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #18: Literally Hitler

Over dinner at her favorite Greek restaurant, Denton’s girlfriend of six months dumped him because he’d “grown too fucking right-wing,” as she told him in that low, affectless manner he used to find seductive for whatever reason.  (They’d met in 2016 on a pro-Trump dating site.)  “Have fun with your alt-Reich buddies,” she said, getting up to leave.

“I will, bitch, ’cause I’m literally Hitler, ha ha,” he said, quoting an alt-right meme that spoofs whiny libtard bullshit by facetiously comparing someone or something to you-know-who.  (Denton thought the shrimp Santorini he’d just eaten ranked a little higher than Stalin.)

Copyright © 2017 by David V. Matthews (revised March 15-16, 2017)

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #16: Delicious Irony

As a longtime alt-rightist, Denton sometimes wished his movement didn’t rely so heavily on code. He had always considered himself honest, but he could also understand the need to avoid losing his social-media accounts by writing “Google” instead of the N-word, “Skype” instead of the K-word, et cetera; due to decades of liberal brainwashing, most Americans had turned into snowflakes, incapable of handling the truth about race. (Denton didn’t have a drop of non-Aryan blood, nor had he ever boned a non-Aryan chick, nor had he ever even remotely considered boning a guy. We readers can’t always enjoy delicious irony.)

Copyright © 2017 by David V. Matthews


Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #15: Showering

PornHole, my favorite Internet site for free smut, now offers nine different golden shower videos starring nine different Donald Trump impersonators.  I don’t know who does the showering in these videos, because I’ve never watched them and shall never do so, not only because I voted for Jill Stein, but because depicting Trump as sexually-uninhibited pretty much normalizes him and his ultra-right-wing buddies.  Plus he’s bragged about his carnal exploits.  Not showing him getting any would piss him off more, no pun intended.  (By the way, even radical guys such as me like jerking off.  Even the revolution needs Kleenex.)

Copyright © 2017 by David V. Matthews

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #13: Sustainable Farming

Five minutes into my supervisor’s PowerPoint presentation, I wanted to beat the living crap out of him, meaning I’d grown more tolerant in my old age, ha ha, but not too tolerant.

God, what a liberal jackass—no one outside of wine-and-cheese parties cares about sustainable farming.  I can’t wait for President Trump to stamp out this PC bullshit.  If we didn’t alter the environment to raise crops, millions of people would starve.  I dunno if Trump the real-estate guy knows anything about agriculture, but someone in his administration probably does.  You can’t run the government with a narrow mindset.


Written on the spot


Copyright © 2017 by David V. Matthews

January 20, 2017