Latest posts
-
Weapons, Freakier Fridays, and the Death Rattle of Sydney Sweeney’s Americana
The box office has once again delivered its weekend sermon, and America, faithful parishioner that it is, dutifully attended services with popcorn in hand. We were given horror, we were given nostalgia, we were given Bob Odenkirk with bruised knuckles, and—because capitalism cannot function without a sacrificial lamb—we were given Sydney Sweeney’s Americana quietly smothered
-
Netflix Giveth, Netflix Taketh Away: A Funeral March for the Shows We Loved
The streaming economy is nothing if not biblical: seven years of plenty, seven years of famine, seven executives screaming “cut costs!” while canceling your comfort show. And so, on August 17, Netflix opened the velvet curtain to reveal the latest mass grave of content. FUBAR? Dead. The Residence? Evicted. Pulse? Flatline. The Recruit? Dishonorably discharged.
-
The Parasocial Comfort Blanket: Why SmartLess Owns My Brain
It’s not easy to admit that the most stable relationship in my life right now involves three middle-aged white men who don’t know I exist. And yet, here I am, another hopelessly devoted listener of SmartLess, the podcast where Jason Bateman, Will Arnett, and Sean Hayes invite celebrity guests, mispronounce each other’s words, interrupt constantly,
-
The American Dream Was Always an HOA Scam
The American Dream was never a promise; it was a performance. A stage set that looked believable until the lights flickered and the backstage was exposed—cheap plywood, unpaid labor, and a cast list missing half the country. MAGA wants to dim the lights again, to sell the illusion one more time. But illusions don’t pay…
-
Pete Buttigieg and the Litmus Test That Ate 2028
This was supposed to be Buttigieg’s strength: grace under pressure, a knack for threading impossible needles. Instead, he’s left with the political equivalent of a half-buttoned shirt in a job interview—too casual for the formal crowd, too formal for the casual one. The Gaza litmus test has no safe answers. But what Pete Buttigieg discovered…
-
Taylor Swift’s Glitter Bomb: When Pop Rollouts Become Mini-Civilizational Events
This is not just an album. It’s an immersive artifact, a test in how much primetime art we want to live in. The life of a showgirl isn’t just sparkles—it’s strategy. It’s mapping meaning onto every costume, camera angle, track title. It’s willingness to make pop feel momentous again, but burdened with layers of consumption…
-
Breadlines With Ballistics: On Aid, Optics, and the Math of Looking Away
There’s a certain kind of silence that only exists in a crowd waiting for food. It’s not quiet—nothing about hunger is quiet—but it has an agreed-upon hush, a choreography of patience. Bodies stand still because moving burns calories you don’t have. Eyes scan for motion because motion means a truck, a crate, a whisper that
-
When You Tell Me Restaurants Are Under Threat, I Say: “No Sh*t, They Literally Are”
Restaurants are collapsing like dominoes in a windstorm, but apparently CNN still felt the need to headline it: “Restaurants Are Under Threat as Costs Skyrocket and Consumers Cut Back.” If you read that and thought, Oh, really? Food costs are eating the industry alive, who could’ve guessed?—you’re both correct and complicit in the slowdown of
-
Jesus Chicken Does Autumn: Chick-fil-A’s New Fall Menu Drops Like a Leaf in a Storm of Selective Morality
Chick-fil-A, America’s favorite drive-thru confessional booth, has decided it’s time for sweater weather, PSL selfies, and the annual reminder that even God’s chosen poultry can rebrand when the leaves turn. This fall, they’ve unleashed a lineup so quaintly autumnal you’d almost forget their corporate tithe ledger still smells faintly of sanctified bigotry.
-
Fast Food, Faster Judgments, and the Full-Time Hustle of Love
There’s something mildly dystopian and wildly romantic about the fact that Matthew and I have become part-time food couriers in a town where Texas Roadhouse still considers itself haute cuisine. Uber Eats. DoorDash. Roadside therapy with a side of queso. When he got to Abilene, we knew we wanted time together. And we knew we