January 11, 2026

I Miss Grownups: We Are Now a Nation Run By Doomscrollers, Shit-Posters, Agitators, and Large Adult Sons


The other day on Facebook, I shared a meme that the White House’s official X account posted the day after the unauthorized invasion of Venezuela.

The meme was a black-and-white picture of President Trump striding out of a limousine with the letters FAFO across the bottom: Fuck Around and Find Out.

“I miss grown-ups,” I wrote.

We’ve been in this era of government-by-shit-posting for so long, it’s hard to grasp how outrageous this was. Putting aside the fact that the strike was unauthorized by Congress, that American should not be in the business of regime change, that the Trump administration apparently has no plan for Venezuela going forward—this was an act of war. It was the use of America’s military to kidnap a president, leaving chaos in its wake. It will probably lead to American troops on the ground in Venezuela to protect Trump’s precious oil. People almost undoubtedly will die.

It’s not the time to post jokey memes that make Trump look like an action hero.

That was hardly an isolated incident.

Scrolling through just the last couple of months of White House posts I saw another meme of Trump as Mr. Clean—with hair, because they don’t even know how to meme correctly—clad in a tight white tee-shirt, his arms folded to reveal rippling muscles, his smirking face completely yassified. “There’s no trade like Mr. Tariff,” the meme read.

(Honestly, if you can decipher the joke here, you’re smarter than I am. Tariff doesn’t rhyme with clean. Trump, as mentioned, has hair—of sorts. I guess they liked the idea of giving Trump jacked arms?)

Further down the feed is a post that the White House RTed from Trump himself. It’s an AI rendering of Illinois governor JB Pritzker, blown up to look obese, holding a cheeseburger and a sign that reads, “Chicago doesn’t need help. We have everything under control.” Behind him, Chicago burns and dead bodies are strewn about. It’s the “Everything is Fine” meme but make it fratty and cruel.

And I certainly don’t recommend so much as sightseeing on the vile feed of America’s foremost large adult son, Don Jr. A recent post of his depicted a children’s book cover featuring Franklin the Turtle. Franklin Drives By Tim Walz’s House and Calls Him Retarded is the book’s title.

“Franklin is the BASED turtle,” Don Jr. wrote, undoubtedly imagining a million MAGA high-fives.

But beyond the juvenile and offensive memes, there’s something far more sinister happening with our administration’s ubiquity on social media. They use it as a tool to divide us, to radicalize the impressionable, to sow confusion and distrust.

The recent tragic death of Renee Good is a classic example.

Any normal administration in the past would’ve posted something along the lines of: “We are aware of the death of U.S. citizen Renee Good at the hands of ICE. We are examining all the evidence, urge people not to rush to judgement, and assure you that justice will be served. It is as a time like this that we must come together as a nation and not allow this tragic event to divide us.”

Instead, this, in part, is what Trump posted:

“I have just viewed the clip of the event which took place in Minneapolis. It is a horrible thing to watch. The woman screaming was, obviously, a professional agitator, and the woman driving the car was very disorderly, obstructing and resisting, who then violently, willfully, and viciously ran over an ICE officer, who seems to have shot her in self defense. Based on the attached clip, it is hard to believe he is alive. . .” (This is a classic, “believe me, not your lying eyes” moments, as the ICE officer who shot Good was walking around after the incident without so much as a limp.)

Meanwhile, Vice President Vance, who spends more time on X than a typical 20something social media director, has spent the bulk of his days defending the murder and disparaging the press.

“What the press has done in lying about this innocent law enforcement officer is disgusting. You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” he tweeted.

It’s not just Vance, by the way. They’re all volume tweeters. Scroll through the feeds of Stephen Miller, Musk, Ted Cruz, Trump himself—if they had real jobs, they’d be fired for goofing off at work.

“The left is the party of murder,” Elon Musk tweeted, in the wake of the assassination of Charlie Kirk.

Later he added, “If they won’t leave us in peace, then our choice is fight or die.”

(Do these people ever—ever?—stop and think about the insane recklessness of their words? This is real life, not a damn video game.)

Away from Twitter, but on Fox and at Kirk’s funeral, Stephen Miller, as is his wont, foamed at the mouth about “the forces of wickedness and evil” (Democrats, presumably). “You have no idea the dragon you have awakened,” he told the crowd at Kirk’s funeral. (Was that before or after “Ava Maria”?)

It’s taken me a while to fully grasp the fact that we have a far-right regime in place that has not even the slightest interest in being the government for all but I’m fully there now.

And here’s the thing, call me naïve, but in my 50-plus years on the planet, it’s never been like this—even if the president was merely going through the motions of uniting us, he would at least try—which I’ve come to believe is important. Turns out, the optics of civility, decency, and gravitas are necessary for a functioning society.

And I want to gather a group of Gen Z and Gen Alpha kids and shout to them, IT WASN’T ALWAYS LIKE THIS!

Presidents used to say comforting things. Public officials used to advise caution and cooler heads and try to tamp down inflammatory rhetoric, not turn it up to eleven. Obama was called the Consoler-in-Chief. Hillary Clinton planned on wearing purple to her acceptance speech, had she won the presidency, to show that she was the president for the whole country—both blue and red states. George Bush visited a mosque after 9/11.

On Christmas this year, Trump gave his annual heartwarming message, lambasting the “radical left scum that are doing everything possible to destroy our country.”

I’m so tired.

It’s axiomatic that the older you get, the more you realize the concept of “adulthood”—this period of life where you suddenly become a model of experience, wisdom, and probity—is a lie. Everyone is essentially faking it till they die.

But I miss people even pretending to be adults. I miss the days when maturity was considered a virtue for our elected leaders. I don’t want the fucking White House shit posting. I don’t want our vice president to be a 24/7 “debate me, bro” guy. I want leaders who bring us together in a crisis. I want elected officials who realize how radical, how un-American Trump is and try to stop him. I miss politicians who actually care about the wellbeing of the American people. I miss leaders who remain calm and clear-eyed in a crisis. I want a Supreme Court that exercises its power to limit the president’s power. I miss civil debate. I miss compromise. I miss kindness. I miss seriousness.

I miss grown-ups.

As always, the opinions in this blog are mine alone.

August 29, 2025

In Defense of Jeremiah Fisher (or: The Summer They Threw Jere Bear Under the Bus)


Let’s get the awkward part out of the way: Yes, I am a middle-aged woman who loves The Summer I Turned Pretty. What can I say, it’s what I like to call “good basic”—like Taylor Swift and recyclable shopping bags and iPhones.

And today I am here to loudly and proudly declare myself Team Jeremiah.
When I finished Season 2 of the show, I had a genuine question: After all that, how on earth were they going to make Conrad and Belly endgame? I knew based on spoilers (and everything I know about literally every romance movie/show ever) that Belly (Lola Tung) would pick the Byronic, brooding Conrad (Christopher Briney) over the happy-go-lucky Jeremiah (Gavin Casalegno). But after a Season 1 where it was pretty much all-Conrad-all-the-time, Season 2 was all about Jeremiah. In that season, Belly realized that Conrad, with all his sad boy moping, sudden mood changes, and maddening inability to express himself, was not the boy for her, but that Jeremiah—loyal as a Golden Retriever, good-natured, and able to clearly express his devotion to her—was the way to go. Jeremiah resisted. Belly had already broken his heart once when she picked Conrad over him. He couldn’t go through that again.
“Belly if I fall for you again, I don’t think I could take it if you change your mind like last time,” he said.
“I won’t do that,” said Belly.
It’s worth noting that before Jeremiah said yes to Belly he appealed to his older brother one last time: If you really love Belly, you should tell her. “If she picks you, I’ll let her go. I want her to be happy and I want you to be happy too.”
That night, in a dark motel room, Conrad did confess his love to Belly. But it was too little too late (and too mumbly and shoe-gazey). Belly had chosen Jeremiah.
End of season.
So tell me, how can you pivot to Conrad and Belly being end game after that?

Well, turns out you can give Jeremiah a bunch of heretofore unseen character flaws. In Season 3, we find out that he cheated on Belly (he thought they were broken up…but still). We also find out that he’s in debt, is such a flake that he didn’t file the appropriate paperwork to graduate, demands a $700 “mirror glaze” cake for his wedding that he can’t afford (all while mansplaining the difference between cocoa and cacao to Belly), and has agreed to get married at his dad’s country club and taken a job at his dad’s firm, both without consulting Belly. Who is this guy?
Meanwhile, Conrad, who had been quite a dick to Belly in the past (snapping “why don’t you go look at yourself some more in the mirror” when he was angry at her in Season 1 and derisively asking her which brother was the better kisser in Season 2), became a doting, sweet, chicken-making saint.
So this is how (admittedly brilliant) showrunner Jenny Han was going to make Conrad and Belly endgame—by giving both brothers personality transplants.
And it worked. I’d say in past seasons, Team Jellyfish (Jeremiah and Belly) and Team Bonrad (Belly and Conrad) were of roughly equal popularity. This year, not only did Team Bonrad become the dominant team (by far), the fandom turned on Jeremiah. Memes cropped up where Conrad was depicted as deserving of first class while Jeremiah was deserving of the bathroom or where Conrad got a beautiful box of cookies and Jeremiah only got a box full of crumbs. Online, people said things like: “You have to mentally ill if you’re Team Jeremiah.” I’ve never seen anything like it (JK, I’ve seen things exactly like it, every time a fandom gets too big). Things got so bad that the show had to issue a statement urging fans to stop harassing Gavin Casalegno. (Repeat after me: There are no good fandoms.)
Had people memory-holed the first two seasons? Had they forgotten Belly’s promise to Jeremiah, or the fact that four years had passed since Season 2 and they were still together—happily.
Also, look, Christopher Briney is a beautiful man and a talented actor but trying to steal your brother’s fiancé two days before the wedding is a shit move, no matter how you slice it. Especially when compared to Jeremiah’s “I want her to be happy and I want you to be happy too.”  Indeed, Conrad told Belly that he “hated” his brother when he saw him with Belly, which is doubly upsetting because the show flashed back to Susannah (Conrad and Jeremiah’s mom), on her death bed, telling Conrad to always take care of his little brother. If this is taking care of your brother, I’d like to see what neglecting him looks like.
I guess for me, even with these new annoying character traits, I wasn’t prepared to turn my back on Jeremiah. He’d laid out his feelings and made it perfectly clear that he couldn’t handle the rejection again. And Belly swore she wouldn’t do it.
And somehow…Jeremiah has become the bad guy of the season? Make it make sense.

There are still three more episodes to go. I know Conrad and Belly will end up together, although it might take some time. But I hope Jeremiah finds his person, too. He thought Belly was his person (“I don’t know how to not love you”) but he was wrong. And how crushing was it to see him sitting there, all alone, after the wedding was called off? No brother. No mother. Lord knows, his asshole father was of no use. Thank God for Stephen (Belly’s brother) who came to sit with him. I hope he finds someone who loves him and values him and always chooses him first—it’s the love he gives and it’s the love he deserves.

(Also, please, everyone get a life and stop being assholes to celebrities online. You’re embarrassing yourselves.)

July 17, 2025

The Internet Has Made Us All Assholes: Love Island Edition


Love Island is a unique show in one particular way—it’s filmed in real time, more or less, and the contestants (or “islanders” in the show’s parlance) are completely cut off from social media.
It’s not uncommon for reality TV contestants to have their phones taken away, but the real time aspect has added a layer of toxicity.
Fans are aware that the islanders don’t know about the social media narratives that have formed around them—and this fills them with either anticipatory glee or intense schadenfreude.
(One of the progenitors of this kind of dark fan anticipation was 2013’s #HasJustineLandedYet. To recap: A PR woman named Justine Sacco wrote a racist tweet—she later claimed it was a joke—just before boarding a flight to Africa. While she was in the air, an online mob “canceled” her and the hashtag #HasJustineLandedYet went viral. At least in that case, the online mob was arguably on the side of good. But the mob, as mobs do, took on a life of its own and the whole thing turned into a kind of morbid rubbernecking: This woman doesn’t know that her life has blown up while she’s on a plane. Get the popcorn!)
From the good(ish) side of fan groupthink: Last year, Love Island fans were excited that Leah, a funny and unapologetically outspoken contestant, had no idea how popular she was. She suspected that American fans didn’t like her because she had such a big, brash personality and a kind of swarthy beauty that didn’t scream “All-American girl.” Instead, fans loved her. Or I should say, enough influential fans decided they loved her that other fans jumped on the bandwagon. This is what happens when these contestants go on the show. A consensus builds, sometimes gradually, sometimes all at once. Then the consensus rides its own wave.
When the consensus is positive, it’s kind of nice. It was genuinely touching to see how excited and surprised Leah was when she found out she was a fan favorite (see also, Season 7’s Amara, who was rejected by some of the men for being too much). But the dark side of this can get quite ugly.
This season, the fans were particularly unimpressed. They didn’t like the Kardashian-esque mom (“mamacita?”) Huda, because she was too needy and bossy with her erstwhile partner, Jeremiah. Fans were so cruel online that I began to worry for Huda’s mental health. She seemed like a pretty fragile person on the show—what would come of her if she got off the island and saw how hated she was? Then a bunch of fans did an about-face and decided they liked her after all for being unapologetically herself (and, yes, for having enough twerking prowess to power a small village). She was saved from the worst of the fans wrath and actually made it to the finals, just as the tide was beginning to shift away from her again. A new narrative is calcifying that she isn’t a “girl’s girl” (a cardinal sin in Love Island land) and went too far in the “heartbeat” challenge when she mounted contestant Ace. (Having watched that horned-up challenge I can attest that what is considered “crossing the line” seems rather arbitrary.) But at least Huda still has her defenders.
(At some point mid-season, Love Island producers put out several public pleas to treat the islanders with respect and love. Paging Dr. Frankenstein.)
The internet mob is a fickle beast. Fans liked the cocky and charming Ace at first but turned on him for being a would-be alpha and thinking he was the main character—they derided him for his obvious influence peddling (he almost singlehandedly got handsome serial monogamist Jeremiah booted from the island) and made fun of his height, creating memes where his legs dangled off tall chairs like he was a toddler. As for Chelley, his partner, she was popular until it was decided that she was too confident, too sure of her own status as Queen Bee. As if to knock the would-be prom king and queen down a peg, they were voted off despite having arguably the best romantic connection on the show.
Fans turned on goofy cowboy Taylor when he dumped fan favorite Olandria in favor of another woman, Clarke. Despite the fact that Love Island is ostensibly for building the very kinds of connections that Taylor and Clarke shared, it was too late, they were cast as irredeemable villains.
Instead, fans rooted for Nicolandra—a portmanteau of Nic and Olandria.
But there was one problem—Nic was in a relationship with a woman named Cierra. She was popular at first until fans decided that she was so careful, too smooth and polished in her responses (she was all but doomed when it was discovered that she had once thrown herself a Love Island-themed birthday party before being cast on the show). And they really wanted Nic to couple up with Olandria. So they dug into Cierra’s social media past—a fandom on a mission could put the FBI to shame—and found that she had used a derogatory Asian slur more than once on TikTok. They made sure the producers knew this—and demanded she be removed from the show. (This was complicated by the fact that, a mere one episode in, another islander was booted when her racist social media posts had been unearthed. Shouldn’t all racist posts be treated equally?) With a week left to the season, Cierra was told to leave.
Fans were gleeful, triumphant. A video circulated on TikTok that appeared to overhear Cierra crying, “You can’t do this!” when the showrunners informed her of her fate. The online mob delighted in her misery. They made fun of her collagen-enhanced lips. (Mocking plastic surgery is another big bit of fandom cruelty. Poor Vanna, who appeared only briefly on “Casa Amour,” was the subject of thousands of TikTok videos picking apart the flaws of her fillers.) They sent death threats. (Receiving death threats is now an expected consequence of going on reality TV, eliciting little more than a collective shrug.) And it gets worse. Some people called ICE on her Latino family. (Just to recap: They were upset over her alleged racism so they called ICE on her. Make it make sense.)
What exactly is going on here?
I keep thinking about an article that appeared recently in the New York Times about a young influencer who had cancer. She wanted to make her posts about cancer as cheerful and upbeat as her posts about makeup and travel had been and fans decided she was faking it for attention. An entire subreddit was devoted to outing her as a liar. If she had cancer, why was she traveling? Why was she smiling so much? And those pictures of her at a chemotherapy station? Obviously photoshopped.
The story depressed me to no end. People, it seems, will seek out community, no matter how dark that community is. Imagine spending  all of your free time trying to prove that a girl doesn’t have cancer. Imagine building a social life around that endeavor. The fact that the girl actually did have cancer was almost beside the point. I was more horrified that people took time out of their lives—hours upon hours—to feed this cruelty. What a hollow, soul-destroying endeavor.
The internet, I’m not the first to say, is like high school. We want to get in with the “in” crowd. There’s strength, power, and comfort in numbers. In high school, the most popular kids are rarely the meanest—it’s their foot soldiers who are the cruelest, the so-called “wannabes.”
That’s what the internet is now, an army of wannabes. People who take giddy pleasure in knocking others down. Like high school, it serves two purposes: It assures that they won’t be the subject of a takedown themselves and it keeps them in the “in group.” Is there anything headier than being part of an angry, giddy, or self-righteous mob? (This applies whether you’re talking about Cierra’s racial slur or the Epstein Files.)
Group think has never been more prevalent. Group cruelty is, sadly, an inevitable outgrowth of that. But when are we going to realize that spending our days taunting people, sending death threats to reality TV contestants, hating on public figures that we don’t know, has a corrosive effect on our own mental health? It’s an ugliness, a lack of empathy that has subsumed our culture, creeping its way into our politics, our relationships, our daily lives.
Gen Z invented the phrase “touch grass”—meaning, get off the internet and go outside.
My advice to Love Island attack mobs. Take your own advice. Touch grass. And stop being an asshole—for your own good if nothing else.

May 1, 2025

Bully-in-Chief: How Trump’s Insecure Masculinity Is Infecting Our Country

Being a bully doesn’t make you a real man. I mean, we all know this, right? It’s the opposite. A bully is someone who is insecure, uncomfortable in his skin. He needs to assert his authority through acts of aggression because he otherwise feels helpless.

Trump is, and has been, our Bully-in-Chief. The scene in the Oval Office with Volodymyr Zelenskyy a few weeks back was a particularly vivid example. He didn’t earn Zelenskyy’s respect through his behavior or wisdom (ha!), rather he demanded respect through intimidation. “What you’re doing is very disrespectful to this country,” he shouted, when Zelenskyy dared to stand up from himself and his people. He insisted that Zelenskyy thank him, evoking a bully’s taunt, “Please sir, can I have another?”

It’s a cliché, of course, but genuine masculinity commands respect and insecure masculinity demands it.

Trump is constantly demanding that people tell him how strong, smart, and great he is because he is, in fact, none of those things.

This is old news, as I mentioned. We saw this bullying, this WWE-style leadership from the jump (who can forget Trump mocking a disabled reporter?). But now it is affecting our foreign policy.

Trump doesn’t see America as it is—strong, respected, aspirational, a “shining city on a hill,” as Ronald Reagan once called it.

He sees it the way he sees himself—in need of constant validation, always afraid the other guy is taking advantage of him. A perpetual fear of being the sucker that, in fact, turns him into the sucker.

So in his mind, USAID, our humanitarian outreach program that spreads goodwill across the globe and keeps Americans safer, is unfair. Our tariffs, which have been formulated thoughtfully by economists, are a rip-off. Our foreign policy toward Ukraine, designed to avoid the outbreak of World War III, will only continue if Zelenskyy grovels in gratitude.

“Nobody respects us. They’re laughing at us,” Trump has said many times.

This is the ultimate fear, for Trump personally and now that he uses the United States as an avatar for his own insecurities, for the country itself.

Trump’s whole deal is “Make American Great Again.” But he has no idea what makes a country great, just as he has no idea what makes a man great. We are not stronger under Trump. We are no longer a beacon, a standard bearer, the leader of the free world—we’re just another country. He has made American weak, needy, and desperate—a perfect mirror of himself.

March 19, 2025

No One Is Coming To Save Us


When did you realize that no one was coming to save us?
I confess, it took me an embarrassingly long time.

For years, I was, essentially, Charlie Brown flailing at Lucy’s football, thinking this time it will be different—and falling flat on my face every time.

It started with Robert Mueller, with his big patrician face and inscrutably sober demeanor. Here he was! A serious man, a Republican who believed in the rule of law, who was going to expose Trump as a traitor. But the real Mueller—faltering, uncertain—was not the man to save us. His Mueller Report, while actually quite damning (34 indictments!) only grazed the surface. He didn’t, for example, interview Donald Jr. or Jared Kushner. He pulled his punches. He did not dig deep. He was not, it turns out, the man for the job. (This is also a lesson in the optics of masculine competence—even a lifelong feminist like me could be duped by his Founding Father face.)

Then there was the Big Lie.
Surely, the Republicans, who knew that the election wasn’t rigged, who knew that Trump’s 62 lawsuits against various election boards in Georgia, Arizona, Pennsylvania, et al, had all failed, who read the J6 committee report and saw the piles and piles of damning evidence that Trump was simply the ultimate sore loser—surely, they would set their voters straight. Instead, 147 Republican lawmakers voted to overturn the election–and they have not budged.

Then came the riots. This time, the Republican lawmakers were there—they saw the violence, the aggression, the dark power of Trump’s angry mob with their own eyes. And for a day, maybe two, a few talked like they had seen the light.
Mitch McConnell called it a “violent insurrection” that Trump was “practically and morally responsible for.”
“Count me out,” Lindsey Graham said about Trump and Trumpism.

But a few days passed—Graham was famously harassed by MAGA supporters at an airport and lost his nerve. A few new narratives emerged—that January 6 was an expression of First Amendment rights. That the rioters were merely “tourists” in the Capitol (that doozy came from Rep. Andrew Clyde of Georgia). That the whole thing was actually an FBI astroturfing operation. That there was no difference between a radicalized mob raiding the seat of government and the pockets of violence that organically grew out of the nationwide George Floyd protests.

And suddenly, the horrors of the attack were memory holed and some Republicans seemed to actually believe the comforting lies they told themselves about that day—that it was no big deal and possibly even something to be celebrated (cue the J6 chorus singing “Justice For All.”)

January 6th should’ve been the end of Trump. But his enablers in Congress made sure that he was just getting started.

The next would-be savior was Jack Smith, who actually might have done something if he’d been given more time. (The wheels of justice and all that. . .)

And raise your hand if couldn’t bring yourself to believe that the Supreme Court—not even Trump’s largely hand-picked Supreme Court—was going to give him full criminal immunity? After all, they’re officers of the law, with lifetime appointments, beholden to no one—surely they won’t give our most lawless president immunity from prosecution, even if he committed a murder? (“[Murder of a rival] could well be an official act,” Trump’s lawyer argued. And they agreed with him.)

More delusion (on my part) came when Trump ran for office again in 2024. I thought that the GOP was exhausted, over him, ready to return to something resembling normalcy. Instead, with the exception of a few lawmakers with actual spines (Liz Cheney and Adam Kinzinger), they fell in line.

And then, after he won, came the cabinet appointments—more trolls than actual appointments, one worse than the next.

Surely, they wouldn’t confirm a Health and Human Services Secretary who doesn’t believe in vaccines?

Surely, they wouldn’t confirm an FBI director with an enemies list filled with American politicians?

Surely, they wouldn’t confirm a Defense Secretary who was a weekend Fox New host with a history of alcohol abuse and domestic violence, with zero experience for the job, who is also a member of a radical right wing religious sect?

Surely they wouldn’t confirm a Director of National Intelligence who is a credibly suspected Russian asset?

And so on.

It was around this time that I finally got it (I know…I know…). There was no bridge too far. No matter how much Trump acts like a dictator, tramples our constitution, betrays our friends and aligns himself with our enemies, causes pain and misery here and abroad, no one is going to save us.

The Democrats sure aren’t going to. (You didn’t think I was going to completely let them off the hook, did you?)

I remember, when Trump was giving his address to the joint session, there was much talk about whether or not the Dems should even go. Most decided to, because the Democrats love to flatter themselves as being rule followers and upholders of tradition. They came armed with…decorously tiny paddles with sayings like “Musk Steals” and “Save Medicaid.” Early in the speech, Rep. Al Green stood up, waved his cane (a truly wonderful optic), and repeatedly shouted, “You have no mandate to end Medicaid!” and I thought, oh, wait, this is genius. They’re actually going to disrupt the speech in a staggered way, one rep at a time, until Trump is boiling with rage!

Reader: There were no further disruptions.

So yeah, the Democrats are not ready to meet this moment. I don’t blame them for our constitutional crisis—that is squarely on the GOP. But I do blame them for not seeing the forest for the trees. They keep talking about strategies for winning the midterms and I’m like, “Bitches, there may not even be any midterms.” They don’t seem to grasp the severity of the crisis we’re in. They’re too busy being well behaved.

(One caveat: I do think that AOC has met this moment with the proper outrage and urgency. No one can singlehandedly save us, of course. But I certainly think she can lead the way.)

The latest person who’s allegedly going to save us? Amy Coney Barrett, no less, who actually has shown some backbone recently by siding with the liberal judges against Trump. Could she be a secret ally, someone who can break Trump’s stranglehold on the courts.

No.

I mean, c’mon people. Amy Coney Barrett? We’re really grasping at straws here. It seems the only people who are going to save us are…ourselves. Time to get busy.

As always, the opinions expressed in this blog are mine alone.