Si tu sais, tu sais.  ️

N.P.: “Monster” – Reckless Love

Sorry, dear reader…we’re still celebrating over here.  Tried to stop, but then started reading some of the Executive Orders and Actions and had to start all over again.  Our long and stupid national nightmare is finally over.

N.P.: “Daddy’s Home” – Tom MacDonald, Roseanne Barr

Today was the end of the age of cowardice, weakness, and incompetence.

America is back.

N.P.: “We The People” – Kid Rock

Just a quick check-in, dear reader.  I can’t really tell you what I’ve been up to, but suffice it to say (as a great man once said): We live in fast, strange times and we work in fast, strange ways.  Things should settle down very soon…or maybe not: things are still moving pretty quickly.  The fact that it hasn’t rained in weeks and there’s not a drop in the forecast isn’t helping anything.  Anyway, we’ll talk soon.

N.P.: “Totentanz” – Oberer Totpunkt

The only thing more humiliating than having to preside over the certification of your own complete electoral shittiness is having to stand in front of a failed nation and deliver a “you can’t fire me because I quit” speech.  The only thing more humiliating than that would be to deliver that speech in French.  The global socio-political schadenfreude that has been occurring lately is almost guilt-inducing.  But not quite, so keep it coming.

N.P.: “Wouldst Thou Like to Live Deliciously?” – Mickey 9s, POPO COPS

Happy New Year, dear reader!  You’ll forgive me for not meeting you here last night for some kind of year-end wrap-up.  I spent a lot of time writing yesterday, and a couple of times I thought that I should take a few minutes to write an end-of-the-year thing, but ultimately, I was disinterested.  I just didn’t feel like going back and re-examining 2024.  For what reason?  It was a fine year.   Plenty of challenges, plenty of rewards.  But there’s no need to revisit any of it.  I’m increasingly disinterested in the past, finding the present and future much more worthwhile subjects of concentration.  There are audacious plans for 2025 that will require many late nights, tireless dedication, and a great deal of both cunning and ruthlessness.  But what doesn’t, these days?

Buckle up, dear reader…I’ve seen such things before, and 2025 has all the earmarks of wild ride.  #LFG

N.P.: “Mony Mony – Idol/Stevens Remix” – Billy Idol, Steve Stevens

The last time I set foot in Canadia, I was immediately pulled aside at customs and told they were going to swab me for gunpowder residue.  “Are these people with you?” they asked me, referencing the 7-8 people I was traveling with.  When I indicated that they were, they were all swabbed for gunpowder too.  I asked the Canadian authorities for a reason for the search, but they were either unwilling or unable to provide any justification for this.  Of course, everyone in my party, indignant over this rather rude welcome to Canadia, turned to me for an explanation.  When I just shrugged stupidly, they just shrugged and wrote the whole thing off as “one of those crazy things that happens when traveling with Jayson.”

Of course, this same group had been with me the day before at SFO when we were all boarding a flight to Seattle when everything almost went to shit before this weird trip even started.  I had arrived in San Francisco late the night before, then overslept before heading to the airport.  The rest of the party was trickling through the TSA checkpoint when I happened to reach into my pants pocket to discover I had inadvertently brought my favorite switchblade to the airport.  As I fondled the weapon, I felt my lips purse as I decided not to panic and tried to figure out what to do.  I looked around quickly for a trashcan or some kind of receptacle I could slyly dump this thing in, but as my well-traveled reader may already know: TSA checkpoints are absolutely bereft of any places to stash stuff.  And there are agents watching the people in line exhibiting suspicious behaviors, like hurriedly trying to stash a razor-sharp knife before boarding a commercial airliner.  And there was no time anyway: I was up next, and the agent was gesturing me forward.  I was fucked.  My only option was a Jedi Mind Trick (which I will happily explain to the dear reader at a later date…I seem to have veered off the subject, which was…Canadia!  That’s right.  Okay.  What I was trying to say was that I love the Canadian people, their culture, and their actual country.  But their government under Justin “Blackface” Trudeau has been shameful and disgusting.  Repugnant.  Crying out to be overthrown.  And the Canadian people were absolutely ready to do it, but they’d been so abused during the pandemic that they’d been completely cowed.  Beaten into submission.  Financially destroyed when Justin froze their personal bank accounts if the protested any of Canadia’s absurd and draconian lockdown laws.

The Trump Tariff Threat
Then, suddenly, a couple of weeks back, the political landscape in Canadia was dramatically when Big Don, The Breaker of Narratives, Hero of the Republic…The Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla….U.S. President-elect Donald Trump announced his intention to impose a staggering 25% tariff on Canadian imports.  This wasn’t just a shot across the bow – it was a calculated power move.  For decades, Canada has benefited from bilateral trade with the U.S., often leveraging its proximity to the world’s most powerful economy.  Trump’s move aimed to even the playing field, calling out what he labeled as unfair trade advantages.

“Why should hardworking Americans subsidize Canadian industries that don’t play fair?” Trump asked reasonably during a rally.  “We’re a country of strength, and we expect fair partnerships.  If Canada wants in, they can step up – or step back.”

Damn right.  Harsh?  Maybe.  But effective? Absolutely.  Trump’s tariff’s aren’t about punishment – they’re about resetting the economic balance for the long-term benefit of American workers and businesses.  By placing strategic pressure on Canada, Trump is forcing a reevaluation of trade practices to ensure they serve both nations equally.  And let’s be honest – he wasn’t wrong to address how intertwined the economies have become.

While Trump was making power plays, Trudeau was left reeling.  Accustomed to photo ops and ass-kissy platitudes, Trudeau visibly struggled to handle Trump’s boldness.  His attempts to reassure Canadians fell flat, and his characteristic optimism began to resemble naivety under the weight of real-world challenges.

This prompted JT to jump on Socialist One (or whatever the hell the Canuck’s equivalent of Air Force One is) and tear ass down to Mar-a-Lago that same day to try to whine his way out of Trump’s crosshairs.  It didn’t work.   Rumor has it that Trump was calling Justin “bitch” and “petting Trudeau like a lapdog” as Big Don suggested to the Canadian Prime Sinister that if his country couldn’t handle the economic pressure, Canadia should become the 51st U.S. state, with Trudeau becoming governor of the state until a more suitable candidate, such as Wayne Gretzky, cane along.  This was not merely an economic threat; it was a brilliant political maneuver that sent shockwaves through Ottawa, stirring up a storm within the Canadian government and beyond.

A Government in Disarray
The immediate reaction was one of chaos within the Trudeau’s administration.  His finance minister, Chrystia Freeland, resigned abruptly, citing significant disagreements with Trudeau on how to navigate the impending tariff crisis.  This discord exposed the internal strife within the Liberal Party, already grappling with completely diminished public support and a looming election.  The resignation was far more than personal conflict; it symbolized the broader instability and the government’s apparent inability to present a united front against external pressures.

Public and Political Backlash
The public sentiment in Canada was a mix of panic, anger, and humiliation.  Trudeau’s portrayal as the “governor” of the “Great State of Canada” by Trump was met with derision and criticism, amplifying the perception of Trudeau as weak and womanly, and not a leader at all.  This was further exacerbated by posts on X, where commentators noted the dire political crisis unfolding in Canada, suggesting that Trudeaus “leadership” was on its last legs.  Trudeau’s government, already facing extreme criticism for its completely abhorrent handling of various domestic issue, now seemed to be woefully out of its depth on the international stage.  The Liberal Party, once viewed as a beacon of progressive policy, was now seen as dangerously vulnerable, with polls showing an alarming drop in support.

Enter Pierre Poilievre, the sharp-tongued, no-nonsense Conservative Party leader who is already reshaping Canada’s political landscape.  Where Trudeau floundered, Poilievre excelled, stepping into the chaos with the poise and conviction of an actual leader ready to take the reins.  “Canada needs less virtue signaling and more substance,” Poilievre declared in response to the crisis.  “Justin Trudeau has sold Canadians short for far too long.  It’s time we had leadership that protects Canadian jobs, strengthens our economy, and stands firm with results.”

Poilievre’s vision resonates with a growing majority of Canadians fed up with rising inflation, stagnant wages, and housing affordability reaching crisis levels.  Unlike Trudeau, who often speaks in abstract ideals, Poilievre has positioned himself as the voice of everyday Canadians, someone who isn’t afraid to tackle tough economic realities head-on.

The Economic Implications of Tariffs
Economists warned of the potential devastation these tariffs could bring to Canada’s economy, which heavily relies on trade with the United States.  Trudeau’s response was to commit over a billion dollars to enhance border security, a move seen by most as capitulation to Trump’s demands rather than strategic diplomacy.  This decision was met with mixed reactions, with some seeing it as a necessary evil, while others criticized it as an unnecessary expenditure that played directly into Trump’s hands.

The Political Endgame
The political fallout was swift.  Oppositions, both within and outside the Liberal Party, began calling for Trudeau’s resignation.  The situation was worsened by the loss of key allies like Freeland, painting a picture of a government in shambles.  The pressure for Trudeau to step down intensified, with political analysts speculating on whether he would be forced to call an early election or if he would be ousted through a confidence vote in parliament.  The last two weeks have been filled with videos of Trudeau being chased through the streets of Ottawa by angry Canadian mobs shouting “Fuck you, fascist,” and the like.

Post-Script: An informal survey taken in Canada shows a stunning 60% Canadians supporting the idea of becoming the 51st state.  Entrepreneur and Canadian national treasure Kevin O’Leary has expressed personal enthusiasm for this idea, and is scheduled to discuss the “joining of the two economies.”  I suspect he is angling for the position of Governor of the State of Canadia. And I, dear reader, am here for all of it.

N.P.: “Stay On The Outside” – Whitey

What the hell happened to December?  Seriously, what happened?  One minute, I was shoving an uncarved pumpkin onto my front step and pretending it was a deliberate Halloween decoration.  The next thing I know, it’s Christmas Eve, and the pumpkin is half-frozen, half-shriveled, looking like it’s experiencing the same existential crisis we all are this time of year.  December didn’t happen-it sprinted past me like an illegal alien trying to get out of the US by January 20th.

And now here I am, no presents wrapped, no tree fully decorated (unless you count the pathetic attempt of a tinsel garland I draped across it like a lazy toga), and absolutely no clue where this month went.  I know I’m not alone in this.  December plays us all like amateurs every year.  But this time, I have a solid excuse – or at least I’m calling it solid.

You see, dear reader, I’ve had my head so far buried in this book I’m trying to get into selling shape that time has become little more than a suggestion, like expiration dates on prescription meds.  Each day blurs into the next – words, edits, caffeine, Benzedrine, absinthe, repeat.  Somewhere along the way, I apparently forgot that there’s an entire world out there demanding responsible behaviors, like buying Christmas gifts or paying attention to dates on a calendar.  I’m reminded one cannot go about freelancing through life like it’s an open-mic night.  If you haven’t tried writing a book while the world insists on going about its business, I suggest that you don’t.  It’s not that it’s hard (though it absolutely is), it’s that the sheer mental consumption of it warps everything else.  Time ceases to9 flow like a gentle stream and starts spinning like a manic record on loop.  “December,” you say?  I barely knew her.

In fairness, it doesn’t help anything living in California at Christmastime.  The whole rest of the world (but certainly anything north and east of here) gets four distinct seasons, three months each.  There is never any question of what time of the year it is.  Not so in California.  Here, we only have two seasons, and if you want to get existentially technical about it, we have one season and one privation: things are either Hotter Than Hell, or they are Not.  From Cinco de Mayo until Halloween, it is Hotter Than Hell.  From Guy Fawkes Day until Cinco de Mayo, it is Not.  Winter kicks in the fucking door when it arrives in the rest of the world.  Here, we don’t even get a gentle tap on the shoulder.  If Winter does show up here, he doesn’t want anybody to know about it.

I know this sounds like some kind of justification for procrastination (it is), but this book I’m writing?  Again, it will have been worth it.  And if I’m not forgiven for any holiday failings, I’ll just blame the pumpkin.  It’s still sitting out there like a sad squash of shame, and honestly, it deserves it.

Merry Christmas, dear reader.

N.P.: “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” – Gary Hoey

Today, we celebrate the birth of the man, the myth, the musical juggernaut – Ludwig van Beethoven, born December 17, 1770 in Bonn.  The OG of symphonic swagger would be turning 253 today, and frankly, the music world is still catching up to him.  LVB has been an outsized inspiration for me.  When I was 3, I used to occasionally come out of my room in the morning and announce that I was Beethoven that day, and made everybody call me Ludwig and stuff.  I was a weird little kid.  Anyway, to me, Beethoven has always been The Man.

The first song I learned to play on the piano was the Ode to Joy, which, if you don’t know, is the 4th movement of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony and shall forever remain the most divine noise to ever fall upon the ears of man.  I followed that up by learning his Moonlight Sonata, which, while perfectly encapsulating that haunting, heartbreakingly beautiful “staring out a rainy window with unresolved feelings vibe.” Then, of course, there is Symphony No. 5, whose four opening notes can still make the most nonchalant music critic sit up straight.

Of course I loved (and still love) his entire body of work.  But what I’ve really gotten from Beethoven was the attitude.  Uncle Ludwig embodied Romanticism – this has nothing to do with being romantic and giving flowers and bad poetry to the object of your desire.  No…this sort of Romanticism says that art is not for the kissing of your patron’s ass.  Art is how mankind argues with fate and with God.  If God throws a lightning bolt at you, grab it and chuck it right back at Him while shouting boasts and challenges to the heavens.

The man lived larger than his circumstances.  Losing one’s hearing would have sent most composers spiraling into obscurity, but not Beethoven.  He seemed to say, “Fine, I’ll write music so monumental it’ll shake the world without me even being able to hear them.”  And then he did.  By the time he premiered his Ninth Symphony – deaf as a brick – audiences were on their feet, absolutely losing it, while someone had to turn him around so he could even see their applause.

But Ludwig’s defiance wasn’t just with fate – it was with the entire music establishment.  He flipped a massive middle-finger to decorum, shifting music from aristocratic background noise to something brimming with fire, fury, and liberation.  His compositions weren’t polite; they were bold, raw, full of tension, and completely unapologetic.

For every rule he shattered, he paved the way for modern music to become an experience.  Without the risks Beethoven took, half the artists you love today likely wouldn’t even exist.  From movie scores to rock to jazz, his fingerprints are everywhere.

So on this day, were raise our whiskey to the eternal maestro, a man who turned his personal tragedy into global treasure.  Cheers, Uncle Ludwig!

N.P.: “Beethoven” – Trans-Siberian Orchestra