Black Friday has long been a strange holiday in my mind. At its core, it feeds into the worst tendencies of American ideology. Everything is a “doorbuster,” and people need to camp out for hours to potentially get a much bigger TV at a slightly smaller price. For years, I would track a website, Black Friday Death Count, to see what madness had taken place during those 24 hours. Every reported injury and death humbled my impulse to go out and see what the big deal was. This isn’t to say I haven’t gone out before – notably 12 hours after the initial rush – but it kept me on my toes, letting me know to be careful as people’s empathy was replaced with a consumerist frenzy. The issue became that whoever ran it stopped updating and made it, at best, a document of mankind’s hubris for a sale too good to be true.
I think it helps that, on average, my draw doesn’t fall under the “hot new gadget” box. I sympathize with people who chase new consoles and have these elaborate stories about backroom shenanigans, but my whole grift tends to be centered around DVDs and Blu-Rays. Unfortunately, because that has been discontinued by almost every major retailer, I have no reason to go out and peruse, to have that inspiration strike while people get caught up in the first proper rush of Christmas. Sure, it’s come earlier every year, but Black Friday is the kid with undiagnosed ADHD asking you to pay attention to him because he has a brilliant, impulsive, possibly short-lived idea that has to happen now or else. There is a charm in finding something unexpected while also believing in the perverted reimagining of the saying, “You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.” I’m sure I could find something meaningful in the mishigas, but that isn’t my way of thinking.
Even if I didn’t go out to a store this year, I did participate in a more traditional, mostly digital, form of bargain hunting. As I’ve done a few times, I participated in the semi-annual Criterion Closet flash sale. While most years have been limited to store purchases, I looked online for what sounded hottest, and this time was Code Unknown (2000). In general, I’ve been in a very Michel Haneke mood this year, and that film had a profound impact on me when I saw it in my early 20s. It opened up the possibilities for how storytelling could be used, and I’d argue remains his best work, even as I’m sure there’s more succinct productions out there.
Part of me wishes that I were the cooler, rebellious type I tried to be in high school, where Black Friday was a meaningless holiday that led dumb people to the slaughter. I’d love to put on Green Day’s “Macy’s Day Parade” and relate to its criticism, but, despite being one of their best songs, I’ve kind of let them down. I still won’t buy a TV on Black Friday, which… I guess is holding true to some values.
It’s amazing how much this holiday symbolizes something greater that I’ve been feeling throughout November. Despite any high or low, the past few weeks have felt a tad insignificant. Sure, I kicked the entire month off by watching the powerful new Yorgos Lanthimos film Bugonia (2025) and haven’t stopped thinking about it. Guillermo Del Toro directed what is quite possibly the most faithful retelling of Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” novel. Even Danny Brown has released the feel-good hyperpop/rap crossover album of the year. There’s a lot more on a personal level that I could address, but more than anything, I get to the middle and end of every week, and it all feels a bit pointless. Sure, the Fall weather has finally unlocked the pleasant side of temperatures, but what about this month really stands out as its own anymore?
October has Halloween. December has Christmas. November does have its own smattering of benchmarks – such as the first real month of NBA games – but you come to realize that a lot of its identity is erased by Christmas. If you go outside, November 1st feels like the day the skeletons were put away and the sleighs came out. You have that cliché of Mariah Carey letting you know how much she loves Christmas (I would too if I got a couple million for one song annually). I suppose some of the magic is lost in Southern California because, at best, it is interpretive. There’s no snow to really add the ambiance. Maybe the outfit switch-ups are cool, but festive culture feels very much about anticipation right now. Similarly, Black Friday is here to remind us that those gift lists aren’t going to checkmark themselves. They interrupt the Thanksgiving dinner, beckoning the impatient to the store. Again, I’m not totally above this, given that I’m currently outlining this year’s haul, but it speaks to how much a humble little holiday can’t compete.
Though, in fairness, I’ve come to appreciate Macy’s Day Parade as much as the next person. There is something comforting about having that annual reminder of what’s to come. While it also reminds me of how limited the melodic scope of Christmas music is, it’s also that chance to believe that there’s any monoculture, that we’re all united in an appreciation of a good parade full of song and dance. I know people who are excited to see those K-Pop Demon Hunters (2025) singers perform. I’m wondering how they’ll take knowing that they’re not cartoons. On some level, I know it’s all ephemeral, but it gives me something to do, to anticipate, and try to get in the holiday mood – of which has been difficult some years.
I’ll save any existentialist opinions on Christmas for another post. For now, I continue to believe that my issue with the holiday is how limited the scope is supposed to be. There’s a finality to everything, that it’s the day when everyone reaches a destination. There are expectations, and I think that’s always been a collective struggle for everybody. I imagine with the economy the way it currently is, there will be a lot of corners cut and more desperate efforts to look like everything’s fine. Sure, I get to see Ben Platt for the second year in a row in December, but that’s more anomalous to what the season means. I’d love to be able to embrace something more naïve and just have a good time. However, it makes me anxious, at times annoyed by the insistence that everybody tries to be in a good mood for the sake of some spirit. Not to suggest it is Orwellian, but it is the most “Big Brother is watching you!” holiday out there, and that sounds exhausting.
Which is why I must apologize for front-loading this with what is essentially a lengthy complaint about how November is a forgotten month. In fairness, it could be that I haven’t had time to see Wicked: For Good (2025) just yet, or that the NCAA women’s volleyball tournament is still working towards the final line-ups. There’s been a lot of building, and I’m thrilled about what’s out there.
However, I am fixated on how I’ll end the year. As someone who is indebted to New Year's Eve nostalgia, I am already working on end-of-year essays and attempting to listen to as many albums as I can to determine what my favorites are. The major standout lately has been Dodie’s “Not For Lack of Trying,” which All Songs Considered compared to a folk version of Laufey (who is also high on my 2025 list), though I feel might’ve been doing her a disservice. I love the album in the same way that Samia’s “Bloodless hasn’t left my rotation since its release. At the end of the day, I realize that finalizing anything is foolish, especially for someone as unmotivated as I am some weeks (will I get to Rosalia in time? Stay tuned and find out!), but again I love the closure of the journey while opening myself up to discovery in the year to come. But Dodie’s awesome because she fits into that jazz-adjacent style while being a bit self-deprecating and observational in ways that amuse me. Maybe it reminds me of a more cohesive Faye Webster, or at least more mentally “all there.” Yeah, let’s go with that. That song about Dave is so good.
To transition into more personal anecdotes, though things that aren’t November-specific, I will begin by saying that I went to my first hibachi experience. It’s a place not dissimilar from Benihana (“where dinner is the show!”), which I assume would have a much more intimate environment. There was a part of me that was initially dismayed because it seemed exploitative to the chefs, and I’ve always hated the feeling of staff constantly surveilling your table. I guess another way to compare it is to Mongolian barbecue, which is awesome and I regret not having more often. However, it’s almost always in a fast-food style that is less chit-chat and more about getting in and out before your noodles are fried.
Returning to hibachi, I sat with my group as I awaited the expectations of the night. I’m not someone who needs constant amusement at a restaurant. Sure, I get the fun of something like Hard Rock Café, but my fear was that the chef would be cracking jokes the entire time and forcing me to engage. The common image I have is of people throwing sushi into mouths (didn’t happen), and I am grateful that it was mostly your basic sizzle fry get-up. You watched him throw everything onto the surface and slowly become edible. There is a magic to everything, especially with the fried rice. I’ll admit there is something fantastic about seeing the process, even if it gets stressful imagining the existential worry of cooking food in front of strangers who want nothing more than to crack jokes that you have to forcefully smile at. As someone who worked at a grocery store, I sympathize with the lack of shared transparency.
This isn’t to say that anything about the night was terrible. If anything, it makes me realize how cheap my outlook on life can be sometimes. The food was good, and I will not complain about the atmosphere based on established intent. As someone who has gotten more antsy to expand their cooking prowess, I did find a lot compelling about watching him flip those spatulas and light onions on fire. Even so, part of it may be envy that he’s a master who doesn’t fold under pressure while I’m inconsistent about cooking an over-easy egg, let alone in a way that’s more than an over-easy egg.
Another thing that happened is that I saw Jagged Little Pill at The Long Beach Landmark Theater. While a review is incoming (I apologize for posting theater reviews that are several weeks out of relevance), it is always fun to visit Downtown Long Beach areas that aren’t just The Pike. As I’m willing to discuss, there’s politics about going anywhere in that part of town, and it all comes down to parking and safety. I once went to the wrong parking garage and left a minute later while having to pay for my lack of parking experience. This isn’t to say I have any negative feelings towards The Landmark, but what I’m about to share speaks to the fun oddities of the place.
For starters, there are a lot of one-way streets, meaning that it took a while to get on the right path to park in the right garage. While doing so, we passed by a skate park with a giant penny statue out front (no kidding). This was over by the Billie Jean King Library, and I guess I have been too incurious to assess monuments around the city. Also, given that pennies have discontinued manufacturing, it is an odd sight and curious to see how it ages. The other thing I find amusing, and feels different from six years ago when I parked in the same location, is that the ticket vendor machine now comes with a preamble from our mayor. If you’re like me, there’s a no-nonsense nature to this part of the process, so to have a speech lasting longer than seven seconds is absurd. I couldn’t tell you what he said, but it did become a running joke to think that our current mayor needed to stick himself everywhere.
Everything from there will be discussed in said review. Let’s just say that Diablo Cody is one of my writing heroes, and I have been attempting to see this show for several years. It’s one of those performances that makes me believe that the kids will be all right. A lot is wrong with this world and I worry that the generational transaction of culture isn’t being passed on in as meaningful of a way as it was for me, but when I see a show embrace queer themes and discuss dysfunctional families in this candid of a way, I think there is at least art out there for them to express ideas and not feel alone. I’m sure they relate to much more youthful productions than this, but given how 2025 hasn’t felt nearly gay enough, I’m down for any show that allows young actors to sing while waving signs highlighting the barrage of issues in the world. If nothing else, it makes me appreciate the concept of community, of which I don’t always feel is present in meaningful ways right now.
To shift a little bit (but not very), I also attended workshop readings for a few new, smaller shows. Out of respect for the artists, I will not discuss the material itself, but note that there was one that moved me. The Postman’s Daughter (despite Bing’s insistence, I am not talking about the Peppa Pig episode of the same name) is by Danielle Koenig and Justin D. Cook. During a reading by the great people at Musical Theater West, I saw a bare-bones version with music and found the conceit charming. Compared to other readings, it was directly about emotion and character, forgoing the typical trend of hyper-complicated premises that staff insist work better with proper staging. The Postman’s Daughter is vivid despite being a work in progress that stands for significant rewrites.
To me, it had the authenticity that makes me love theater. I was especially charmed by the talkback that followed when I realized that Koenig and Cook were front and center with the development. They took the questions and shared a level of transparency that I crave as an artist. For whatever faults I have with workshop productions, it’s always endearing to see creators who have passion and desire to improve. These two in particular seem very nice. I want to believe the show will continue to evolve, and that I’ll see some later version, maybe under a new name, and appreciate what feedback they received. Like my prior point about Jagged Little Pill, I think I’m just vulnerable to loving people who create at the moment, and this is a great sign of where most productions often start.
At times, I do worry that my recent rundowns of the month have lacked real substance, or have been teetering into self-indulgent. Maybe this comes from compiling my annual Snapshot series and realizing that one currently titled “They’ve All Come to Look For America” is both likely to be my longest but also my most sanctimonious. I don’t wish to ever become cynical or outstay my welcome with exhausting political discourse, but at the same time, I do think 2025 has been largely defined by frustration with values I carry personally. On the day of publishing, I am hours removed from news of the president giving a speech. This is in light of two National Guard soldiers being murdered. It’s a sad state of affairs and definitely deserves to be called a tragedy. However, as I listened from the dinner table, I noticed that sympathies quickly turned to a Sam Kinison-esque preacher parody of “righteous anger” talk. There wasn’t any dialogue about possibly working to control the violence of guns. Instead, I heard NBC conclude their broadcast as he went into a rant about Somalians in Minnesota. I can’t be sure what that means, but it’s tragic how everything now isn’t about consoling, but more finger-pointing and blame. From what I’ve heard, even the turkey pardoning went awry with grievances.
So again, I apologize if my end-of-the-year essays might have twinges of unnecessary confrontation. I like to think there’s more purpose than strict emotion, but I am also too close to the insinuation point to ever fully know for sure.
Which is all to say that this has been a decent month, even if my final comments seem to be “where does the time go?” Maybe that’s just how Winter is, especially as night comes earlier and everyone is preoccupied with last-minute rushes. Last month, I remember commenting on how Winter might be my favorite season, and I think November has me convinced that I’m a bit mixed on that answer. I’m still not sure what it is. The best that I can say is that we’re officially into the season when playing Emancipator’s “Soon It Will Be Cold Enough” and Mitski’s “The Land Is Inhospitable And So Are We” on a repetitive loop is acceptable. I’m excited to get into that. As mentioned before, Blood Orange’s “Essex Honey” is also hitting nicely around now. If I had to go off of those vibes, then yes… Winter is great. However, I think the recent wave of rain has me convinced that it might be closer to a mixed bag.
I don’t wish to present too much else about my December plans at this moment. My hope is that it’s going to be one of the better Christmases as of late, though that can only be confirmed with time. For now, I anticipate the new film Marty Supreme (2025) and hope it takes the year out on a high note. Given that Daniel Lopatin has already released one great album this year, I’m curious to see how his score work compares. Similarly, it’s amazing how The Safdies haven’t released any film since before the pandemic. How did they miss that whole wave? It’s insane.
But anyway, I hope that people who do participate in Black Friday, Cyber Monday, whatever day of whatever month in whatever holiday you want to believe in… that you are safe and financially wise with your income. I don’t know what I’m doing for the next few weeks, but I hope to at least have a few updates along the way. I know that I haven’t been the most consistent with that as of late, and I apologize. Hopefully, things will get back to normal soon. For now, prepare for the final rundown of 2025. I know it’s easy to say this has been a bad year, but there’s been so much good in it as well. We just need to put it all into context.
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