Transparency is the Answer | Why? Because Los Angeles Controls California's Political Destiny through Sold-Out Actors

April 29th, 2026, 2:54 pm

The date at the Hammer Museum had turned out better than I anticipated.

It turns out

She seemed kind of bored

And it seemed like she just wanted to be entertained

“I’ve always liked stories,” she said. 

I had known her for so little time in real life. 

There was a realistic chance I could spook her.

I’ve told stories to people before; or they’ve told me stories before;

And after I told them the story; or after they told me the story, 

It felt so awkward we never talked again. 

She wanted an an example of how this occurred 

And I told her a story about a girl who met a famous comedian 

And that she got pregnant with his baby to try to ensnare him in a relationship. 

After she told me that story, she never talked to me again.

She was embarrassed of herself

But she wanted me to know she had been pregnant with a famous person’s baby.

I only knew her because I knew her sister

And when I came over I wasn’t really planning on talking to her the way we did

But she went into a full confession about how much she had suffered

I didn’t know what to think. 

I suppose she looked beautiful enough to attract almost any man

But she wanted the famous dude’s baby

That’s what she told me

She said it was her mistake

Because she had suffered so much because of it. 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” I said. “That’s the way it happened.” 

“Did you have awkward moments as a teacher?” 

“Not too many,” I said. “But I did have some.” 

“Tell me,” she said. 

“One time I had a principal who said she was called the “N” word as a kid, but then she cooperated with the district to facilitate a false narrative against me.” 

“Really?”” 

“Yes,” I said. “Is it worse to call someone a name or is worse to tell a lie if you're in charge of the whole school?”

“It’s worse to lie,” she said. “Especially if you're a public school employee."

“Exactly,” I said. “It proved we're actually living dystopia.”

“Why did she lie?” 

“Do you really want to know?” I asked her.

“I feel terrible saying I do, but I do.” 

“You do?”  

“I do,” she said, she smiled at me, as if agreeing to marry me.

The way she said the words felt almost like a promise, but I reminded myself to exercise restraint.

I could spook her if the story got to scary.

"Do you want me to make it interactive?" asked her.

"Interactive?"

"Where you play different roles in the story?"

I had to be careful with boring a woman so accustomed to being entertained.

I didn't want to make her feel unchallenged

Bored with me.

I wanted her to like me.

She had affected me in a way that was sublime, right off of Wilshire Boulevard by UCLA. It was a museum recently funded by Lynda and Stewart Resnick. It was called the Hammer.