The Wizard of Oz is a grotesque predictor of Trump’s America.

It says so here, in the Guardian. Specifically,

Oz is first wondrous and revelatory, then sinister and suspect, a good trip that goes wrong… It’s this lurking inner wrongness, the darkness at its edges and the emptiness at its core, that speaks to me now. 

The author of the above is Bidisha, a mono-named entity who may be familiar to long-term readers, and who describes herself, unironically, as a “non-white angry political female.” One who seems determined to find yet another staple of Christmas both ghastly and problematic:

It’s impossible to watch the newly crowned ‘most influential film ever’ without seeing the parallels to the sickly US of today.

Oh, ye doubters. Madame Bidisha has her reasons.

We can read the catastrophic effects of climate change into the tornado that sets the narrative off,

I didn’t say they would be convincing.

see the opioid crisis in the characters’ drugged sleep in Oz’s Powell and Pressburger-esque poppy field, and empathise with the mangy Lion, rusty Tin Man and under-stuffed Scarecrow’s search for organ donors and reliable medical support in an Oz without a solid welfare state.

If you think our Guardian columnist is perhaps overreaching a tad, I feel I should point out nothing that follows is likely to disabuse you.

“Are you willing to die for YouTube shit? That’s what’s gonna come, man. Death is coming to you, dude. Real shit. Feel that energy? That’s why your heart’s pounding.”

At an Antifa gathering in Seattle, Andy Ngo makes new friends.

“I’m known to do this shit for real,” an antifa protester said to me. “Are you willing to die for Youtube shit?…Death is coming to you.” pic.twitter.com/bhK2wWkMBD

— Andy Ngo 🏳️‍🌈 (@MrAndyNgo) December 2, 2018

The clip above is from this longer video, embedded below the fold:

With the season of bonhomie fast approaching, patrons are reminded that any festive shopping done via the following Amazon links – here for the UK, and here for the US – results in a small fee for your host at no extra cost to you.

Write a list. We wouldn’t want you to forget anything, especially if it’s expensive.

Also, open thread. 

Because I’m busy, you’re getting a chance to assemble your own pile of links and oddities in the comments. I’ll set the ball rolling with a rudely interrupted live-stream of note; a compendium of real-time air-traffic audio streams; via Damian, the thrill of Antarctic bore hole noises; via Pogonip, the bedtime companion of your dreams; and not one, but two items of flatulence-related news.

Oh, and Big Knickers. 

Or, The Orange Man Wrecked My Marriage:

By now it’s a truism to point out that the election of Donald Trump… [has] prompted a wholesale realignment of American politics. But it’s also sent shock waves through heterosexual romance.

In the piously left-leaning New York magazine, Molly Langmuir invites us to sympathise with the inner turmoil of activist ladies who are blaming their unhappy marriages, their divorces and estrangements, and pretty much everything, on the continued existence of Donald Trump. There’s quite a bit of mental jungle to hack through, so bring a packed lunch:

29 percent of respondents to a May 2017 survey said their romantic relationship had been negatively affected by Trump’s presidency. And even people ostensibly on the same side of the issues as their partner have run into challenges, with the climate exacerbating or revealing new fault lines. 

Ms Langmuir introduces us to several pseudonymous couples and singletons – people for whom the merest deviation in thought has proved too much to bear. First up, we meet Kirsten:

Growing up, my parents were very liberal. My dad’s gay, he’s been with his husband now for over 40 years. That was my normal. My mom remarried a guy who’s very liberal.

Okay, then.

In high school, I also had a major drinking problem,

No. Don’t. We mustn’t rush to judge.

I was an art major at this big university…

Though, admittedly, she’s not making it easy.

It’s four minutes long and somewhat alarming: 

Writing in the Guardian, Hannah Jane Parkinson bemoans a modest reduction of the Arts Council’s budget:

This philistine government is betraying the arts. 

It goes without saying that the 6% budget trim, £39m of a total £622m budget, is presented in the most ominous possible terms, using a four-year figure, presumably to induce gasps of outrage. We also get the line, wheeled out repeatedly by the Guardian, that,

The creative industries contribute £90bn net to the UK economy.

A framing that not only jars with demands for further public subsidy, but which slyly conflates actual, self-supporting businesses, including TV production companies, designers and games developers, with the kind of fare more likely to be subsidised by the Arts Council. 

So far, so Guardian. And then there’s this:

There seems to be no recognition of how powerful the arts can be in educating audiences, reflecting current events, exploring different views and opening up dialogue. In the past year alone, I have enjoyed Nicholas Hytner’s version of Julius Caesar at The Bridge, influenced by Trump’s America; The Jungle’s tale of life in the Calais refugee camp; Alan Bennett’s Allelujah!, a celebration of the NHS. 

Readers will note that the artistic projects deemed exemplary are somewhat uniform in their default politics, which seem unlikely to differ much, if at all, from those of the typical Guardian columnist, or the typical Arts Council employee, or indeed the typical beneficiary of Arts Council largesse. Perhaps, then, we can hazard a guess as to Ms Parkinson’s definitions of “opening up dialogue” and “exploring different views.” 

A switched-on hepcat works her sweater like a pro. (h/t, Damian) || His handmade paper toys are better than yours. || Some people are just hard to please. || Woke pattern of note. || Bookcase inserts. || Minimals. || Manufacturing pencils. || Always respect the media. || The Manhoff Archives: Stalin’s Soviet Union in colour. (h/t, Coudal) || A (fairly) brief guide to flu jabs. || An unexpected turn of events. || Scenes. || This. || Twisted knickers. || As we’ve seen, repeatedly, Shoreditch is vibrant and diverse. || Darts post-game interview of note. || Real-time orbit in high definition. || And via Monty James, it turns out men have always wanted their own “imperceptible” foundation and waterproof eyebrow pencils.

An open thread, that is, in which to share links and then bicker about them. I’ll set the ball rolling with this item here, by Tim Worstall, on the thrill and intrigue of wombat faeces. 

If you should fail in the task of entertaining each other, the reheated series and greatest hits are there to be poked at.

Or, The Mao-lings’ Unhappy Id Spills Out In Portland.

“You’re inherently violent,” screams an unhinged blue-and-purple-haired woman named Hannah McClintock, while repeatedly spitting on people and trying to punch them in the face: