Joan Didion

In the aesthetic wasteland, personal artistic tastes are merely superficial. Where they once functioned as a means of sculpting one’s identity, they now serve a higher power: selling stuff.

“Punch-Drunk Love” was my PTA gateway drug. I watched it in the thick of lockdown my junior year of highschool, before I knew anything about film or really much about people.

“The Rehearsal” isn’t so much a direct parody of reality TV as it is a deconstruction of its entire premise.

Tethered to conspicuously directional source material, the film’s pushback against the defense system and its media corollaries is hermetic and anticipatory of recent events.

Onstage, Hadreas’ discography blooms. At times, what audiences experienced was more akin to performance art than a concert.

In an interview with The Daily Californian, Boyish discussed inspirations behind the duo’s newest song “Congratulations.”

This is how I find stability, which feels like diaphanous sunlight on my face and softly crinkling leaves underfoot and a chilly breeze pushed in from the water.

If moralism and sentimentality have poisoned the discourse, Didion’s intrepid demystification of “magical thinking” is the antidote.

UC Berkeley alumna and pioneer of "new journalism" Joan Didion died Thursday, Dec. 23, due to Parkinson’s disease at the age of 87

It’s a question I ask myself whenever I’m doing something I enjoy — do I actually like this or has some twist of circumstance or sociality caused me to?