I guess it was back at Barrington Elementary School, and it must have been early in the year, because we were talking about the just-concluded Olympic Games — this had to have been 1968, I guess — and one of my classmates asked, “Who won the Olympics?” The teacher explained that no one country “wins” the Olympics, that athletes compete under their own flags and win individual events, but the whole spectacle was about international fellowship and friendship.

Yeah, tell that to Dick Ebersol, amirite? As I recall, he was the one who instituted medal counts, first on NBC, which jingoistic editors later adopted for newspapers, and so on and so on.

Since we have to live with medal counts, here’s an unpopular opinion: I like it when American athletes, especially those who are favorites, are upset in their events. My all-time favorite might be when the American men’s basketball team had to settle for bronze in the 2004 games. And I realize it’s not the athletes losing that gives me this grim joy, but the insane, over-emphasis on American athletes, especially in the handful of prime-time sports that NBC shamelessly milks for pathos — gymnastics, swimming, track and a few others. Because I’ve spent my career in media, I can’t watch a closeup of Simone Biles sitting on the sideline without reverse-angling through the fourth wall. I know she’s surrounded by photographers and lenses capturing her every nose-scratch, and while I don’t want her to crash and burn — excuse me, for her Olympic dreams to vanish, I do want NBC to think, just for a few minutes, whether maybe another sport might be worthy of a little bit of attention.

Alan told me about kayak cross, a new sport this cycle, described by a writer for New York magazine as “a kind of mix between a ski slalom and white-water rafting and something you would see on one of the silly game shows that air on ABC in the summer where people risk bodily injury for small cash prizes. It is easily the most ‘should be narrated by a B-list comedian’ event at the Olympics. People in the crowd at Vaires-sur-Marne Nautical Stadium should have airhorns. These are the highest compliments I know how to give.” That is an excellent description; the videos are hilarious. Can we get a little comic relief between closeups of Simone Biles looking fierce and determined? Just a little?

I mean, I look at the clips that turn up in social-media feeds, and it’s often the weirdo sports like artistic swimming. There’s definitely an audience for this. You know what the most shared track-and-field clip was in recent days? The French pole vaulter who brought down the bar with his sizable penis, but did we see that on NBC? No. (OK, maybe we did. I didn’t watch every second in recent days. But I doubt it.)

Fortunately, other media outlets are still practicing journalism:

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You should watch that. It’s good.

Now I’m watching diving. One of the things I like about the Olympics is the way different sports reward different body types, and no group excels at flinging their bodies through the air like compact Asian people. These Chinese women are amazing; they barely make splashes.

In other news at this hour, Tim Walz! That was a good introductory speech. Still not taking anything for granted, because man, these Republicans get scarier every day.

Like many of you, I’ve been watching the Olympics this week. Only the primetime stuff, and I’m not squeamish about spoilers. I know, for instance SPOILER ALERT that Simone Biles killed it today, and the women’s gymnastics team won the gold. I mean, if I wanted to be surprised I wouldn’t be on the internet all day. I’ll watch anyway.

In the course of it, I may see this commercial, called “Dear Sydney.” In it, a father asks Google’s AI function to help his daughter write a fan letter to a track star. “She wants to show Sydney some love, and I’m pretty good with words, but this has to be just right,” he says.

I hate this fucking thing. As the New York story points out:

What? Why would a dad who is “pretty good with words” need an AI model to help his daughter write a heartfelt message to her favorite athlete? Aren’t these moments what parenthood is all about? What sort of lesson is this? Not only does it imply to your kid that it’s okay to offload writing assignments to AI, it also suggests it’s a good idea to let the computer express feelings for you, which may be a troubling precedent.

Troubling? When your kid gets caught using AI to write a term paper in high school, don’t cry about unequal treatment, dad. You started her down this path. Weird, too, that I had almost this exact thought, too:

Brand strategist Michael Miraflor wrote that the ad was quite similar to the Apple iPad commercial from May that was widely reviled. “They both give the same feeling that something is very off, a sort of tone-deafness to the valid concerns and fears of the majority,” he wrote, adding that both were developed in-house.

Yeah. What tf is going on in Silicon Valley? I want AI to do the boring shit so I can concentrate on stuff I want to do, not the other way around. Sydney should return Google’s money and tell that little pixie to leave time in her life for English class.

In other news at this hour, Kamala Harris has texted me 9,000 times to inform me she’s running for president. (You’re kidding, I hadn’t heard.) Then she asks for money. I sent her some. But I have yet to see a significant attack ad on Trump, and I’m ready for it. You have money, Democrats! You’re raising millions and millions! The “weird” thing is fine, but it’ll be played in about 5 minutes, and I expect to see a LOT of advertising talking about what a threat Trump is. Yes, a threat to democracy, and I don’t care if these weird right-wing pundits blame that line for the shooting in Pennsylvania. It doesn’t make it any less true, so lean in! Get going!

And that is all for a muggy Tuesday.

Remember back in June, we were talking here about “medbeds,” which, in the words of the NYT story I had posted, one subject of which…

…came to believe, along with millions of others, that Covid was a creation of the federal government used to manipulate the public and steal elections; that two doses of the vaccine would make men infertile; that Trump had been anointed to lead a “government cleansing”; that fighting had already begun in underground military tunnels; that Trump’s election in 2024 was preordained by God; that he would return to power with loads of gold collected from other countries that had capitulated to his power; that, during his next term, Americans would have free electricity, zero income tax and “medbeds” powered by a secret technology that could harness natural energy to heal diseases and extend human life; and that the only thing standing in the way of this future was a deep state so malicious and vast that its roots extended all the way into tiny Esmeralda County.

Well, the same reporter, Eli Saslow, who already has one Pulitzer and will no doubt gather a few more in the coming years, actually found someone seeking medbed therapy, such as it is. And the story — gift link here — is astonishing.

The subject is a 60-ish former paratrooper and current rancher, whose body is a banged-up, painful mess, and thanks to the “Patriot Party News,” whose various feeds are his near-constant companion, is after this miracle cure his online friends are talking about. He seems like he at least leans in the direction of skepticism, but piping this garbage into his brain nearly every waking moment of his life has taken a toll:

Michael walked outside to check on the horses while he listened to people on the audio feed talk about how Trump was anointed president by God, and how George Soros was building mansions in Hollywood to house undocumented immigrants. He turned up the volume and spoke back to the group over the wind as the unrealities in his ears continued to become the reality of his life.

“Thanks for helping me get up and going this morning,” he said. “I never thought I would be on a platform with people I’d never met and hear this many I love yous.”

“I’m so glad we’re in this war together,” said an aircraft mechanic who went by the name Oath Keeper Bill. “We need you healthy and strong. Have you been following the latest news on medbeds?”

“Oh yeah. They’re here, and they can heal anything,” someone else responded. “Cancer. Dementia. Broken bones. Arthritis. Forty-five minutes in one of those beds, and you’ll never be in pain again.”

“Come on,” Michael said. “Really?”

Yes, Michael, really! Of course, “the military” has a big share of them, and the ones in private hands are being hogged by “liberal billionaires” and why no one thought to pop Joe Biden in one is not a question that’s answered here. I don’t want to spoil the story for you, but eventually Michael gets his medbed appointment — and this section of the story is amazing. Just a glimpse:

He picked up the menu of options and looked at the alphabetized first page, which had more than 50 choices beginning with the letter A: “Acid Reflux,” “Acne,” “Alzheimer’s,” “Alcoholism,” “Aneurysm,” “Anthrax,” “Anxiety Relief,” “Arthritis,” “Asperger’s,” “Autism.”

“Wow, it can really correct all this?” Michael asked.

“Over time, it’s possible,” Andrea said. “As long as you believe, and your mind and body are in alignment with the right frequencies.”

It’s just a new version of faith healing, yes, but…wow. I said back in June I’m no longer interested in making nice with these people, that they deserve whatever is coming for them, but it’s hard to stay hard-hearted about legit chumps.

No, maybe it isn’t.

What else did I do this weekend? Well, it was hot. And I worked. But the coming week won’t be as busy as last week. But it will be as hot. Hotter. Stay cool out there.

Whew, what a week. Sorry for being mostly absent, but I have a week-long commitment with a social-media client that is kinda tapping my energy, although today I got to watch this YouTube clip as part of it, and it cheered me right up and I bet it’ll do the same for you. Watch the whole thing; it just keeps getting better.

I’m mostly cheered up on a lot of fronts. As we’ve been discussing in comments for the last month, it’s been…a fucking month. A lot, as the kids say. But now, things are looking up and I can feel my energy and optimism returning, although I’m not taking a goddamn thing for granted this time. If Kamala can appear appropriately presidential in coming weeks — or at least present as a credible alternative to angry grandpa — we have a real shot.

Also, I sent her $100. I’m sure that’ll make the difference.

“Are you worried it might come back to bite you?” Alan asked of this donation. Journalists aren’t supposed to make political donations, but hell, I’m barely a journalist anymore, and who the fuck cares. This is life or death. I’m on the side of life.

Also, I once donated to a couple of Jennifer Brunner’s campaigns in Ohio, and no one cared. So pfft.

As I imagine you’ve been doing, I’m mainly just absorbing the news, trying to synthesize it and get through the day and into the night without lying awake half of it, thinking about whether to stay and become a fighter for democracy or check out and find a nice cheap property in the Italian countryside. In between, I watched the latest adaptation of “Presumed Innocent” and came away thinking man, what a piece of crap.

How about you?

As Lloyd Bridges once said, I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue.

Enough with a chatty, breezy blog today. We went for a bike ride on a hot day on the Detroit riverwalk, and somehow, I left my phone at home. On the drive, we listened to a new mix CD Jeff Borden sent us last week. As we pulled back into the garage and my watch reconnected with it, it was nonstop ping-ping-ping and I knew something was up, and it was.

I simply cannot keep up with the news today. So it’s up to you. Have at it.

I suspect those of you on social media have already heard the news that President Biden called the widow of the man killed at the Trump rally, but she wouldn’t take it. Her husband, “a devout Republican,” wouldn’t have wanted her to, she said. As for Trump, he hasn’t called yet. He played golf the following day.

Meanwhile, I looked up the dead guy, Corey Comperatore, on his socials. He was mostly a reply person on Twitter. And many of them were like this:

OK, then.

This really, really has been a shit couple of weeks, hasn’t it? The most terrible people appear to be winning. I’m starting to think they are winning. I’ll still vote, with my optimism fading. But as Neil Steinberg says, anything is possible. I fear the “anything” isn’t the good thing, however. I’ve lost faith in the Democratic Party to respond to this in any meaningful way. I may be wrong — I was certainly wrong to think this country was too decent to sink as far as we have, so consider that — but at this point, I feel more right than wrong.

I’m struck by a phrase in Steinberg’s column: “… this was a lucky wound, another stroke of good fortune for a man born with a horseshoe up his ass.” Perfect. I tend to believe that luck goes in both directions, and I feel like we’ve not had a win for a long while. I’m not a believer in conventional Christian versions of God, so I can’t be comforted by the idea of Trump & Co. in hell. But I do think the universe has a sense of humor, and I want to know when we get to see a little evening of the scales.

Yeah, yeah, tell that to the Jews at Auschwitz.

OK, I’ll stop now. One thing I learned in the newspaper business: Never say “it can’t get worse,” because it always can.

And if you’re a cyclist, be careful out there. Some people hate your guts just for existing.

Well.

Well well well.

Honestly, I don’t have the heart to read all the comments on the last post. I’ve been sitting here draped in Glum all day. It’s been very hot this weekend, and I went to a friend’s house yesterday for poolside dips and cocktails, and came home to see the big news. I had about one wine spritzer too many, and all I could think was: Shit. He’s gonna win. Mother. Fucker.

I know, I know, don’t lose heart. It’s still three-plus months until November, but lately I’m thinking of Biden as hopeless. He reminds me of a man I used to work for, who believed in this mythical past where we all sat down at the table of brotherhood and hammered out compromises that none of us were totally happy with, but were best for the country. It’d be one thing if he were just old, but old and out of touch is unforgivable.

I know, I know: Everything could change, etc. And it’s not like there weren’t glimmers of humor in the day. Take this utter horseshit:

There’s a longer statement, which you can find on the web; it’s just as ridiculous as this snippet. Like, oh…

A monster who recognized my husband as an inhuman political machine attempted to ring out Donald’s passion – his laughter, ingenuity, love of music, and inspiration. The core facets of my husband’s life – his human side – were buried below the political machine. Donald, the generous and caring man who I have been with through the best of times and the worst of times.

I feel like we’re living in two realities. Or else she is as diseased as he is – a strong possibility, actually a certainty – and is simply reacting in kind.

Oy. I need to feel bad for a while. But here’s a new thread.

Raining here. Raining raining raining for hours and hours and hours, the remnants of Beryl sweeping up the continent. Fine with me; I love a rainy day. Just watched two grackles livin’ it up in the birdbath on the one day you wouldn’t think they’d need it, but I’m not a grackle. You do you, grackles! Live your best life. I’m just glad it’s not 90 degrees and sunny.

It is 74 degrees, with one million percent humidity. I’m inside, and staying here.

I read this Substack note by a writer I kinda vaguely follow, Sarah Kendzior:

Point 4 is the one that intrigues me, and isn’t something I’d considered. “Collapse the U.S. and strip it and sell it for parts” is, as she notes, precisely what happened in the Soviet Union, post-collapse. Whole industries were stolen by those with the daring to try it. Think what would be possible in a United States where Project 2025 has succeeded in driving the dismantling of large portions of the federal system. It’s not hard to see it. One thing living near a city many wrote off years ago taught me is just how much meat remains on the bones of a carcass. I just reserved “Hiding in Plain Sight” at the library.

Meanwhile, here’s the GOP platform.

Still raining.

Well, the Supreme Court really stuck it in and broke it off, didn’t it? Clarence Thomas even went so far as to agree with Trump’s lawyers’ “far-fetched” (according to The Washington Post) claim that special prosecutors require Senate confirmation, signaling to the vast right-wing legal conspiracy what their next move should be.

It hasn’t been a very good week, has it? And Independence Day is in two days. Might be our last one. Next year’s could feature a military parade, with Commander in Chief Lumpy-Ass saluting throughout.

But let’s not get too depressed, for there is comic relief aplenty.

Today’s provider is Rep. Victoria Spartz, R-Bumfuck Indiana, only the latest in a lengthening line of Republican politicians caught by airport security with a handgun in her carryon. The MAGA darling — they’re all MAGA darlings — claims she forgot it was in there, the same excuse used by former Michigan Rep. Lee Chatfield and Sen. Jeff Wilson of Washington’s state legislature. Also, Madison Cawthorn, post-his failed re-election bid.

I might point out that all of these people are pro-gun, or “pro-2A,” as they like to style themselves. And one thing pro-gun people will tell you is that we must not penalize “responsible” gun ownership. Call me crazy, but I believe responsible gun ownership starts with knowing where your goddamn gun is. Also, they all represent rural, or semi-rural areas. What the hell are they so afraid of that they have to carry firearms in their luggage? Probably the dusky hoardes at the airports they have to fly through, although Chatfield was nabbed at Petoskey’s little puddle-jumper airfield, hardly a place any sensible person needs to fear.

So: Comic relief.

I’m preparing to head out of town for the Fourth; catch me on the road to Columbus, where I’ll be visiting family and maybe a few haunts. This will likely be my last post for the week. Have a pleasant-enough holiday weekend, wherever it is and wherever it takes you. Party like it’s 2024, with all that implies.

I’m thinking of going limp. What can I do to fend off the disaster bearing down on us in November? Vote, of course. That’s easy. Speak up. No shortage of that going on. But otherwise, I think I have to disengage, at least a little, from the doomscrolling. It’s not good for me, or anyone else.

Sunday morning is a good example of why. Almost the whole NYT op-ed section is full of Doom, so I turned to a reliable quality read, M.L. Elrick in the Free Press. His column today is about Kwame Kilpatrick, the disgraced former Detroit mayor granted clemency by Donald Trump in the final hours of his presidency. He’s up to his old tricks, needless to say. In the last four years he’s married, gone into “ministry,” and is living large — very large — while ignoring the money he owes to the city and to the IRS. He’s accomplishing this via a number of tried-and-true strategies — putting things in his wife’s name, or a company name — and doesn’t care what anyone thinks, because there’s a sucker born every minute.

Now he’s working to repay the only debt he feels obligated by, to Trump, in this case, an appearance at an event called “Let Us Reason Together: Our Faith, Our Values, Our Politics.” Elrick attended. The column is paywalled, but I’ll quote a few snippets beyond my three-paragraph limit here:

I’ve said for years that Trump and Kilpatrick are white and Black versions of the same person: charismatic, compelling, energetic, engaging, egotistical, materialistic, vain, thin-skinned, utterly untethered to the truth, quick to blame others — especially the media — for their self-inflicted wounds and, yes, horny. And now they share convictions, ranging from the kind juries hand down after a trial to a belief that Trump should be returned to the White House.

…As I left Monday’s event, after participating in a convivial but unanticipated photo op with Kilpatrick, I couldn’t stop thinking: Trump gave Kilpatrick his freedom, but if Hizzoner helps persuade enough Black voters to abandon the Democratic Party, Kilpatrick could help give Trump the world.

More:

…Kilpatrick told his audience there are many reasons he supports Trump. Like Apostle Ellis Smith, the evening’s co-host, Kilpatrick hit on conservative flashpoints like gender identity. He said the Democratic Party he helped lead while serving in the Michigan House of Representatives from 1997 to 2002 “doesn’t exist anymore” and that he was shocked Democrats supported laws that said children don’t have to talk to their parents before seeking a sex change. He said he never would have let such a law pass when he was a legislator, adding, “we have come to a transformational time.”

Kilpatrick said style is another reason young Black men are turning to an old white man (Trump is 78).

“Because people like somebody to be real,” he said, adding that Trump “is saying it in a way like we’re in the back of the house talking.”

Kilpatrick said he met with Trump and, “he’s a real cool guy for sure. Real cool, real comfortable. But he’s smart.”

And how was this speech landing?

Aeisha Reeves, of Clinton Township, said she is preparing to become more active and outspoken.

“I really loved his honesty today,” she said of Kilpatrick. Even though she didn’t vote for Trump in 2016 or 2020, Reeves said: “I plan on voting for him this time.”

Jimmy Lee Tillman II, who said he is the son of civil rights activist and longtime Democratic Chicago Alderwoman Dorothy Tillman, told me he came from Chicago to hear Kilpatrick.

“We’re here on the ground and we’re trying to bring the victory home for Trump. And Detroit is going to play a key role,” Tillman said. “When you got a voice like Kilpatrick and a base, that’s all you need.”

I really don’t worry if black people vote for Trump in ones and twos, and I really don’t think Kilpatrick will swing all that many. But I believe far more will stay home, and that’s the dangerous cohort.

I should add that there is a case to be made that Kilpatrick was over-sentenced for his crimes. Public-official corruption, in the federal system, generally carries far shorter sentences than the 27-year bid Kilpatrick was doing, but now Kilpatrick joins Rod Blagojevich in owing his freedom to a fellow criminal. And like Blago, he’s saying thank-you in a way a fellow criminal will understand.

You can see maybe why I need to disengage from some of this. Here’s another picture of those pretty radishes. I’ll see you later this week.