Monday, February 12
I went to the DMV today to get my very first Colorado driver’s license. The office in Boulder is housed in the back of a near-death mall, and the atmosphere is the kind of Midwestern Soviet ca. 1987 that lets you know you’ve stumbled into a channel of that bureaucracy which runs like dry rot through the official American system. The older guys all look just like the actor who plays the bond company stooge in The Life Aquatic.
In some important way, you know that for all the technothriller special effects we like to imagine going on at the highest, scariest levels of official power, working for the CIA or the NSA or the FBI is more like sitting at the DMV than it is like being in a Tom Clancy novel.
And speaking of technothriller bullshit, I quit paying attention for a couple of months and, with a sick, absurd sort of inevitability, our current fuckwit-in-chief and his comically evil cronies seem not only to have decided that war with Iran should be taken out of the realm of paranoid delusion and placed firmly on the agenda, but to have done this without encountering a howling storm of incredulous, enraged derision from every single quarter and element of the public sphere.
Much love, America. Much love.