Tuesday December 19, 2017

A TV set tells me to let out my “inner child,” so I settle back into an armchair in my in-laws’ living room and prepare to watch some crappy-looking movie called American Ultra. Cardi B interrupts, though, cuts me down, says “Don’t get comfortable.” Tastemakers toss out “year’s best” lists, ’tis the season, but the bests they tout are all boastful belligerents, earnest Garbage Pail Kids, self-assertive jerks. The competitive dynamic of the capitalist star system rewards the most cutthroat, the most rapacious — those among us who, thinking they possess royal blood, fashion themselves fully in the image of capital. No more music from these suckers.

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