Latest news with #JamesParker
Atlantic
3 hours ago
- General
- Atlantic
Dear James: I Love Going Naked on the Beach
Editor's Note: Is anything ailing, torturing, or nagging at you? Are you beset by existential worries? Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles readers' questions. Tell him about your lifelong or in-the-moment problems at dearjames@ Don't want to miss a single column? Sign up to get 'Dear James' in your inbox. Dear James, In the second half of last year, I went to a naturist beach for the first time. I was afraid on my whole walk there that I would chicken out. But there was nobody around for miles—so I stripped. Since then, I've done it five more times, at various beaches, with growing confidence, in front of other people who have and have not been clothed. I've found great peace in lying naked on the sand, listening to the waves. But: Over the winter I started to get these feelings of shame and guilt. I was raised a very strict Catholic. And although my mother has been dead for a decade, I can suddenly feel her strong disapproval from beyond the grave. It's a conundrum. How would you handle it? Dear Reader, Well, I was in church on Sunday morning for the Feast of Pentecost, celebrating the wacky mandate of the Holy Spirit to go where it pleases—to land, if it likes, right on top of somebody's head (your head, my head, anybody's head) and nest there in a throbbing bolus of flame. So yup, I'm ready to get Catholic about this. I'm ready to get dogmatic. Your body is a gift from God. In the appropriate place (such as a naturist beach), you should be able to go as naked as Adam in the garden and feel not a twinge-let of shame. You should be like the primal newborns in the Doors' ' Waiting for the Sun ': 'At first flash of Eden / We raced down to the sea / Standing there on freedom's shore.' (Who dares to say Jim Morrison isn't a great American poet?) Isn't that the true spirit of nudism? They don't call it a birthday suit for nothing. Shed your clothes; shed everything that cramps or abashes you. Air out those musty parts. Unshadow yourself. Let it all flap. Be a real American. Scamper shoeless across the sand into liberty's gold-green sunrise. Me, I'm not great at being naked. It makes me feel too … naked. So I know where you're coming from. But you've done so well, made such strides in self-development. The confidence, the peace, the waves: Keep going! Of course—as at any breakthrough moment, any evolutionary threshold of the psyche—you're being swarmed by the old demons, now at extra strength: guilt, disgrace, an image of your mother scolding you. They are to be stoutly resisted. Imagine instead your mother's delight in you as a baby, in all your sweet-smelling, roly-poly nudeness. Imagine reality taking pleasure in itself across the surface of your skin. Last word here goes to Gerard Manley Hopkins, great Catholic sensualist, nudist in his heart: 'The Holy Ghost over the bent / World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.'
Business Wire
6 days ago
- Business
- Business Wire
Leonid Capital Partners Taps STATION DC to Launch Washington Headquarters, Accelerate Defense-Tech Investment
WASHINGTON, D.C.--(BUSINESS WIRE)--Leonid Capital Partners, the Orange County, CA.-based Trusted Capital Partner to the U.S. Department of Defense, today announced a partnership with STATION DC, the nonprofit tech incubator and members club where frontier-tech founders, investors, military leaders, and policymakers meet. By anchoring its first permanent District office inside STATION DC's Union Market clubhouse, Leonid will accelerate local investment, job creation, and policy engagement—delivering on the spirit of the city's focus on attracting the tech sector, including Mayor Muriel Bowser's Growth Agenda and Tech Ecosystem Fund, which are now before the D.C. Council. 'Washington is where policy meets possibility—exactly where Leonid needs to be,' said James Parker, Co-Founding Partner of Leonid Capital Partners. 'Partnering with STATION DC lets us plant our flag in the capital, expand our checkbook for D.C. innovators, and give defense-tech founders a turnkey gateway to the relationships that move the needle. We're committed to financing more companies here, supporting the local talent pipeline, and helping keep America competitive.' 'The proposed Tech Ecosystem Fund was designed to help spark partnerships just like this that attract world-class investors to DC,' said James Barlia, Executive Director of STATION DC. 'Leonid's capital and operating know-how—paired with our network, programming, and convening power—will shrink the distance between a founder's prototype and a Pentagon contract while keeping the economic upside and jobs right here in the District.' Partnership Highlights: Establishing Leonid's first permanent D.C. workspace inside STATION DC's Union Market clubhouse—providing proximity to policymakers and federal buyers. Increasing capital investment in the region's growing defense and dual-use innovation ecosystem. Co-hosting private salons, roundtables, and strategic convenings with founders, government leaders, and investors focused on accelerating innovation tied to national purpose. Providing mentorship and community support to STATION DC members, including early-stage founders navigating the complexities of federal contracting and scale. These benefits are designed to scale with additional corporate partners and to showcase how programs like the Tech Ecosystem Fund, the District's proposed $2.4 million investment in business accelerators and incubators for start-up tech companies in DC, can unlock a surge of private capital, world-class talent, cross-sector partnerships, and mission-driven innovation—cementing D.C. as the front door for America's tech competitiveness future. About Leonid Capital Partners Leonid Capital Partners is a leading provider of flexible, non-dilutive investments for venture-backed defense and dual-use technology companies. By pairing deep government-contracting expertise with tailored capital solutions, Leonid accelerates growth for founders advancing U.S. national security. STATION DC is a nonprofit members club and convening space accelerating American innovation at the intersection of technology, policy, and capital. Located in Union Market, STATION DC hosts salons, summits, and working sessions that strengthen the nation's competitive edge.
Yahoo
03-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Dear James: I'm Not Very Punk Rock
Is anything ailing, torturing, or nagging at you? Are you beset by existential worries? Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles readers' questions. Tell him about your lifelong or in-the-moment problems at dearjames@ Don't want to miss a single column? Sign up to get 'Dear James' in your inbox. Dear James, I'm not very punk rock. Not even a little. I'm well into middle age and experiencing my first taste of the many small indignities sure to come. I wear sensible shoes with gel insoles scientifically designed to relieve the pain and discomfort of plantar fasciitis. I have long and detailed conversations about insurance. And yet, in my heart, I believe that all is mendacity. That virtue is impossible. That the system crushes us all beneath its relentless wheel. I tell hilarious jokes about the cruel pointlessness of existence and receive only blank stares in return. If the world were to perish in flames, I'm pretty sure it would be no more than it deserved. So my question to you is simple: Is this any way to live? Also: Can you recommend any good bands? Dear Reader, You are punk rock to the tips of your gel-cushioned toes, my friend. Don't worry about that. I'm sorry that nobody's digging your nihilistic humor. Maybe work on your material a bit, soften the edges, angle it a touch toward the mainstream? Day-to-day discourse, in my experience, can absorb a remarkable amount of savage absurdism, gags about doom, and so on (this stuff is highly relatable!)—as long as you don't come off as aggressive or out of your mind. As long as you don't come off too punk rock. To your larger point: How are we to live, make our way, proceed in the world when so much of said world is clearly an evil farce? (Huge pause while advice columnist slurps his coffee, stares out the window, and considers the question.) The punk rockers were not the first to have this insight, of course: The poets and the prophets have always known it. No one is more punk rock than the unknown author of Ecclesiastes. Or John Donne. Or Sylvia Plath. Or the author(s) of the Psalms, in certain moods. The trick, I think, is to use this world-withering vision as a stimulant rather than as a philosophical end point. Don't let it shut you down; let it wake you up. Use it to sharpen your senses and file your encounters to a keen edge. As in: It's all bollocks and everyone dies, but wow, this bag of Dunkin' Donuts Snackin' Bacon tastes amazing. Or: It's all bollocks and everyone dies, so why don't I help this elderly person with her shopping? Use it, this flame of disgust, to refine your language! Regarding bands, I have one word for you: Godflesh. (Cue sound of Godflesh fans across America falling to their knees in grateful assent.) It's all there. The beauty, the horror, the low end that purges your bowels, the guitar tone that scrapes the plaque from your heart. Start with Hymns. Wanting to be sedated, James Dear James, What are some great movies that have come out this year? Dear Reader, The last great movie I saw was Friendship. Profoundly awkward person (Tim Robinson) is absorbed at dizzying speed into charmed friend circle of smooth bro (Paul Rudd) and then—even more abruptly—rejected. At which point he shouts, in despair, 'You made me feel too free! You accepted me too quickly!' Genius. Feet up in the back row, James By submitting a letter, you are agreeing to let The Atlantic use it in part or in full, and we may edit it for length and/or clarity. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
03-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
Dear James: I'm Not Very Punk Rock
Editor's Note: Is anything ailing, torturing, or nagging at you? Are you beset by existential worries? Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles readers' questions. Tell him about your lifelong or in-the-moment problems at dearjames@ Don't want to miss a single column? Sign up to get 'Dear James' in your inbox. Dear James, I'm not very punk rock. Not even a little. I'm well into middle age and experiencing my first taste of the many small indignities sure to come. I wear sensible shoes with gel insoles scientifically designed to relieve the pain and discomfort of plantar fasciitis. I have long and detailed conversations about insurance. And yet, in my heart, I believe that all is mendacity. That virtue is impossible. That the system crushes us all beneath its relentless wheel. I tell hilarious jokes about the cruel pointlessness of existence and receive only blank stares in return. If the world were to perish in flames, I'm pretty sure it would be no more than it deserved. So my question to you is simple: Is this any way to live? Dear Reader, You are punk rock to the tips of your gel-cushioned toes, my friend. Don't worry about that. I'm sorry that nobody's digging your nihilistic humor. Maybe work on your material a bit, soften the edges, angle it a touch toward the mainstream? Day-to-day discourse, in my experience, can absorb a remarkable amount of savage absurdism, gags about doom, and so on (this stuff is highly relatable!)—as long as you don't come off as aggressive or out of your mind. As long as you don't come off too punk rock. To your larger point: How are we to live, make our way, proceed in the world when so much of said world is clearly an evil farce? (Huge pause while advice columnist slurps his coffee, stares out the window, and considers the question.) The punk rockers were not the first to have this insight, of course: The poets and the prophets have always known it. No one is more punk rock than the unknown author of Ecclesiastes. Or John Donne. Or Sylvia Plath. Or the author(s) of the Psalms, in certain moods. The trick, I think, is to use this world-withering vision as a stimulant rather than as a philosophical end point. Don't let it shut you down; let it wake you up. Use it to sharpen your senses and file your encounters to a keen edge. As in: It's all bollocks and everyone dies, but wow, this bag of Dunkin' Donuts Snackin' Bacon tastes amazing. Or: It's all bollocks and everyone dies, so why don't I help this elderly person with her shopping? Use it, this flame of disgust, to refine your language! Regarding bands, I have one word for you: Godflesh. (Cue sound of Godflesh fans across America falling to their knees in grateful assent.) It's all there. The beauty, the horror, the low end that purges your bowels, the guitar tone that scrapes the plaque from your heart. Start with Hymns. James Dear James, Dear Reader, The last great movie I saw was Friendship. Profoundly awkward person (Tim Robinson) is absorbed at dizzying speed into charmed friend circle of smooth bro (Paul Rudd) and then—even more abruptly—rejected. At which point he shouts, in despair, 'You made me feel too free! You accepted me too quickly!' Genius. Feet up in the back row, James
Atlantic
27-05-2025
- General
- Atlantic
Dear James: I Miss Playing the Banjo
Editor's Note: Is anything ailing, torturing, or nagging at you? Are you beset by existential worries? Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles readers' questions. Tell him about your lifelong or in-the-moment problems at dearjames@ Don't want to miss a single column? Sign up to get 'Dear James' in your inbox. Dear James, I have one of those eternal questions, the kind that is difficult to answer no matter how much you ruminate on it: How exactly is one supposed to work hard enough to put food on the table and also not work so hard as to abhor your day-to-day existence? What I'm getting at is, I used to play the banjo. I used to be pretty good, too: I'd go down to the local bar every month or so, sit around with the others, and make some real music for hours at a time. The average passerby might not have paid to hear it (the tip jar, labeled TIPS in huge block letters, was always conspicuously empty). But we always had a good crowd in the place— sometimes they'd even sing along—and I have only fond memories of the whole thing. But alas, I'm a student, and I have a couple of licensing exams coming up that I can't afford to fail. Of course, if I had my ducks in a row I could contrive to both study for my licensing exams and play my banjo. People do harder things. But I don't have my ducks in a row, so it's one or the other. Is there a light at the end of the tunnel? Does careerism require the soul in exchange for success? Maybe I just need to get those ducks in a row. Dear Reader, Dude (if I may), play your banjo. Nothing is more important than playing your banjo. There are plenty of hours in the day. Get your ducks in a row and then behead the ducks. Play your banjo! James Dear James, I recently got into a university, but it's not the one I had hoped for. I qualified for a program in one of its departments, but it's not the one I had hoped for. I was rejected by every other university I applied to—which I also hadn't hoped for. In the past, I've failed countless times, and not only was I able to jump back up, but I was also able to tell myself, This failure was necessary. But I can't seem to do it this time—maybe because this is my life and future we're talking about, and one wrong move feels like it will affect all the rest. (It seems different from failing in a relationship, where one wrong man won't necessarily spoil my experience with the rest.) Perhaps it's easier to accept anticipated failure. Who anticipates failure? Well, I do, when I know I haven't planned well enough. But in this case I did plan: I worked hard, or so I thought. I don't understand where it all went wrong. Making things worse: I don't have a backup. I haven't been flexible; I haven't been open to other ideas. Throughout high school, I felt the need to talk about one plan and one plan only. I worried that if I talked about anything else, it might convey that I lacked confidence in myself, and might give others the privilege of belittling me. Now I'm stuck in uncharted territory. And it's my fault. Do you see a way out? Dear Reader, Well, it's definitely your fault, insofar as we are all responsible for the way we think, and you have thought yourself into a real brain trap here—a real spiked chamber of mental confinement. I feel for you. How do you know you're in a brain trap? There's no room. You go in tiny circles, bumping the walls. Language begins to perish: The same words recur, deadeningly. You have to get out! So let's go, Houdini. Let's spring ourselves from this airless box. This concept of 'failure' with which you are belaboring yourself—you might want to start by having a good look at that. From somewhere you have inherited a punishing set of standards, and they are not working for you. I'm trying to restrain myself from typing 'Failure is a part of life,' but it really is. It's built in. Since we were lumps of protein quaking, Jell-O-like, on the primeval shore, we've been failing steadily, over and over. I failed yesterday, and a couple of times in the night. No Plan B? Welcome to the human race. An exercise for you: Visualize failure. Visualize it maybe as a hovering black tumor or a bearded, bloodsucking marsupial—or as somebody's face, telling you that you've failed. And then visualize zapping this face/tumor/marsupial with golden phasers, thought torpedoes, celestial disintegrators, the full arsenal of your mega-mind. Zap it until it's gone. Destroy failure! I don't want to discount external pressure here. Jobs are real; college degrees are real; money is real. But they're not that real. And I'll tell you what isn't real at all: the expectations of the people around you. Don't let 'em drive you crazy.
