PC Culture — it’s one of the hottest new terms of the last decade. And depending on who you are, it likely evokes a very different reaction within you just hearing it said aloud. But what does it mean and how does it play a role in the way we organize our society?
The pace of change is going to be a political issue.
Tonight, I watched The War Game, the BBC’s eerily advanced take on nuclear war, a granddaddy of Threads, now almost 55 years old.
Several years before even I was born, the filmmakers managed to pose what still remains the central, existential question of our age: What the hell do we do with ourselves, now that we are stone-age people, with space-age weapons?
Scroll through your Facebook feed right now and tell me one thing. How many times did you see a post with the words "offensive" or "offended" in it? I bet it was at least twice. And jump on Twitter and see who the latest celebrity having to beg forgiveness for a throwaway comment is. There's one at least every other day and they really have to grovel these days. There was more of an uproar about Paul Hollywood's diabetes comment than there was about the whole Bill Clinton thing! And I am not a fan of Paul Hollywood; in fact, I think he's awful, but I really don't think he meant anything by it!
Home, a place that has never come easy for me, or has been easy to describe, even now. I never had a place that I felt was stable. When I was younger, I was more worried about what tomorrow would foresee than the worries that a normal kid would carry upon themselves. Money has always created stress in the family, and it was like we never had enough. When we were living in apartments, it was questionable some days if we would come home to an eviction note on the door, and a few times we did. I was one of the what you might say lucky ones in this case. We always had people to go to, relatives, and my mom's friends. Even when we weren’t considered homeless, the fear of becoming it was always there.
The first time I saw Ligaya (all names have been changed to protect individuals’ privacy) she had just come into the shelter’s common room and gave me a small smile. I remember thinking that she looked worn-out and weak. Another shelter guest told me she just arrived yesterday at midnight. I wondered if she had been fleeing and if so, from whom, at an hour so late.
On Rejecting One’s Passion
I’ve always had a burden for the homeless population. Most of my life I just did what most of us do; when I saw a homeless person I diverted my eyes and felt awkward and guilt ridden. Maybe, I would give one or two people a little money if I had it, but I’d wonder what they’d use it for. Beyond that I didn’t know what to do. I felt sorry for the homeless, but I also felt completely helpless to do anything for them.
I found myself inexplicably crying while I read the verdict in the Ghost Ship fire. I didn’t know any of the victims but I’ve been to parties like that in San Francisco, held in illegal warehouses, not up to code, people living there illegally.
I'm tired and cranky from my Labor Day catch up—reading my emails. Yet another post appeared in my feed complaining about the "Homeless" in terms that sounded very close to discussing an infestation of vermin. These are people. And sometimes their pets are with them.
Okay, so I’m getting the following degrees when I get stable enough to go back to school: an AA in film and television from De Anza, because I can also take online classes within the quarter system. I need to get my Foothill College transcript still because this is something I’ve been really lazy about. I also want an MFA in creative writing from UCLA, and then a law degree. After I get my law degree, I’d take the time to work for a few years. After that, I’d get my MBA from UCLA, while trying to run for mayor of Los Angeles.
Yesterday I took my family to look at a used car. We’d found a rusted out “beater with a heater” on Craigslist which I thought could be used for picking up my children from school. After a quick test drive, I turned to consult my wife in Spanish. After a few words, I turned back to the man who was selling the car.