Congratulations, freedom lovers. Patriots. Defenders of the republic. Holders of handmade signs. You did it. You showed up. Three thousand, one hundred marches strong — stretching from the sunbaked sidewalks of the West Coast to the windswept parking lots of suburban New Hampshire. Every single march sent an unmistakable message to power:
We are here. We are loud. We have comfortable shoes and strong opinions.
I had planned to tell people on my own terms. I had a whole timeline. There would be a right moment, a considered conversation, perhaps a tasteful announcement. I would control the narrative.
Instead, my bladder did it for me.
Nicholas Kristof’s sobering column, “The $1.3-Million-a-Minute War,” forces a number into your conscience and refuses to let it go. At its peak, the war in Gaza was costing roughly $1.3 million every single minute. Not in lives — though those too — but in dollars. American dollars, mobilized with breathtaking speed and political unanimity, flow toward destruction while funding for the most basic human needs crawls through years of gridlock.
Kristof calls this a failure of “moral accounting.” He’s right. But the reckoning he demands doesn’t stop at Gaza’s border. It lands, uncomfortably, right here at home.
A Crisis We’re Choosing Not to See
While Washington debates the next defense supplemental, America is quietly sleepwalking toward one of the most predictable catastrophes in its history. By 2040, an estimated 11.2 million Americans will be living with Alzheimer’s disease. By 2050, that number approaches 13 million — and among Americans aged 85 and older, one in three already has the disease. A landmark NYU Langone study delivered perhaps the starkest finding of all: one in two Americans can expect to experience significant cognitive difficulties after the age of 55.
Read that again. One in two.
Question. Why is Iran Really Getting Whacked?
Rachel Maddow expressed skepticism regarding the motives behind the United States’ initiation of a war with Iran on a Saturday morning, arguing that the U.S. administration’s stated reasons do not withstand rational deduction. Marrow contends Iran posed no immediate threat to the U.S. homeland, as it lacked intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) and is not believed to be close to developing them. Even Secretary of State Rubio is cited as admitting that such a capability is only a distant, hypothetical possibility rather than a current reality, leading the author to dismiss the missile threat as a justification for conflict. Finally, the claims that Iran is on the verge of industrial-grade uranium enrichment, as proposed by Steve Witkoff, a real estate developer and friend of the president, who has been involved in high-level talks despite a perceived lack of relevant experience is bogus. The fact that neither international intelligence nor the Trump administration’s own officials—including Rubio during a recent press conference in Saint Kitts and Nevis—have provided evidence that Iran is currently enriching uranium. Thus, the official justifications for military action are inconsistent with the available facts.
So, what gives? Why did the U.S. blow Iran to the desert dustbin?
In my opinion, you have to see the chessboard. In The West Wing episode “Hartsfield’s Landing” (Season 3, Episode 14), President Bartlet tells Sam Seaborn to “see the whole board”. Using a chess game metaphor, Bartlet advises his staff to look beyond immediate, narrow details—such as a single chess move or a minor political crisis—and consider the broader strategic, long-term picture. In the case of Iran, it’s all about power.
And oh, that little itty-bitty island just 1,500 – 1,800 miles northwest of the U.S. coast might have something to do with it as well. “You mean ‘Greenland?'” you ask. Yeah, Greenland.
My boss wants his team to use AI more. “Copilot is everything,” he says. “Be more efficient,” he says. “Leverage Copilot,” he says. “Let it help you think,” he says.
A few days later, he demonstrated the perceived power of AI efficiency. He created our 2026 objectives using Copilot. His email explained it all, “Copilot wrote our objectives.”
I was awe struck. They were flawless. Perfectly structured. Impeccably worded. Strategically aligned. Action-oriented. Outcome-focused. Metric-adjacent.
They meant absolutely nothing.
I have conclude God has a sense of humor.
Not a ha-ha humor. Not a sitcom laugh track humor. More like the kind of humor where He leans back, folds His arms, looks at the angels and says, “Watch this.”
I have trouble kneeling. Can’t walk very far and use a wheelchair. My fingers tremble like an addict overdosing on caffeine. My hands ache. Spine aches. Knees ache. Got cancer. Still have cancer. Have Parkinson’s. And my right foot, who went to sleep perfectly fine on January 16th, tendered its resignation on the 17th. “Dude, not working today. And by the way, not sure when I’m returning.” Trust me, this stuff was never on my childhood vision board.
Meanwhile, my persistently aloof brother jogs five miles every day.
Five. Fucking. Miles.
Every. Day.
No limp. No wheelchair. No mysterious clicking noises when standing. He casually hints winning the health lottery as though one might casually say, “Oh, I built an entire home at work today and grabbed a case of beer on the way home. What one?” I’m not saying I resent him—but if I were God, I would at least have given matching symptoms, if not in fairness, but for symmetry. I often think of what happened on the assembly line. You might presume the system would distribute aches and pains evenly. Heck, you might even believe there’d be a cosmic spreadsheet (with pivot table): “Okay, this guy gets bad knees, that one gets shaky fingers, and so on. Everyone gets something.” Nope.
For some? Sampler Platter.
