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While you were asleep: Price quits over harassment, Ivanka’s punk phase, Howard name drops

Morning, all. Overnight, yet more claims of sexual wrongdoings came to light, we discovered Ivanka’s awkward teen phase, and the latest Star Wars film has a name. 



Amazon chief terminated over sexual harassment claim, highlights obvious issue further.

And they all came tumbling down. Well, not totally. But the cracks on the face of institutionalised sexual assault continues to wind its way down the cheek, with this morning’s news that Amazon Studios Chief Roy Price firmly found himself ejected from the building, as the muscular hands of comeuppance gripped cuff and belt to heave him out into the bare street of public examination.


However, while he may be gone, we’d be foolish to forget, and indeed ignore that fact that many who still think this behaviour is court, those who rule over respective kingdoms. The revolution emboldened by the marching drum of #Metoo, is heartening, but clearly, must work must still be done, and the guillotine must be sharpened, then dulled by use, it also calls for those who consider themselves innocent, those men who watch the anger from the safety of their loungerooms must think on their own past. Those thousandfold fragments of moments where one was the witness, or the instances where one was drunk, foolish and meant nothing by it, excludes one from the fence.




Ivanka wants to be sedated, recalls punk phase.

Continuity is much like the prototypical partner next door. You ignore them due to their location, and continue to do so in later years, as that awkward pang of awful nostalgia you feel when you see their face is awful. They reflect the questionable you. The one you hate, the one you’re trying to forget. Lines are absolutely drawn, until one night. One where you find yourself in a bar that you’ve been in before, and you see that person. Under flicking disco light, stranded on the dancefloor buffed smooth by the edge of all the shapes you’ve thrown, they suddenly seem kind of beautiful. You take them home, knowing that in morning light you’ll feel the need to escape. But here, while the small hours turn large, you can appreciate them for what they are. What they always were.

This morning, we’ve cooked that continuity breakfast while they wear our clothes, as Ivanka Trump has revealed that she endured the same punk phase that we all endured. And yes, I agree. It was an extremely unnecessary preamble.


According to a conversation with the New York Magazine, she once dyed her hair blue and found the musical arms of Nirvana preferable. However, proving the real classics remain so, a decade on most of us are reaching for the lithium to endure the modern American experience, as we’re all savouring the struggle Ivanka used the phase to navigate. The sins of the father, the man who sold the world.




Lastest Star Wars title has local beverage manufacturer reaching for the phone.

I’m not sure if it classifies as marketing suicide if one very small market titters at the title, but so it goes with Ron Howard’s Star Wars spin-off.


Hopefully, it ratchets up the fizz, as the last many allowed us to slam it down too fast, leaving us not refreshed, but rather with that acidic feeling of shame in the pit of one’s Sarlacc pit. Coming in 2018, it starts not a young Harrison Ford, nor does it fill me with confidence that it will reverse course in the SW canon.

That, or I’m just bitter. Why hasn’t Hollywood released the Ron Howard movie we all want to see?



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