If there is anything I have learned since 2016, it is that it can always get worse. That just when you think you’ve witnessed the dumbest people on the planet making the dumbest decisions possible, there can always be more. America has an endless supply of dumb people scratching and clawing their way into positions of power. They also have a seemingly endless supply of people willing to vote for them.

I remember Obama’s initial run and how the word “HOPE” was tossed around. I think we took it for granted. Even with the two-party system, we could always hope that good could prevail. That the voting public would see the benefit of a smart, well-spoken person and vote for them because they would do the best job.

Yeah, I was pretty naive at 28.

I’m 46 now and, like many of you, feel like we have been beaten into submission these last 10 years. Just when I thought we were out of the woods during the 2020 election, January 6th happened. QAnon happened (Whatever happened to THOSE nutjobs?) The whole “They Stole the Election” nonsense happened. The Epstein Files happened. Though the Biden Administration did a lot of good, they were also bombarded with absolute idiocy from everyone butthurt that their tangerine god didn’t win. When he won again in 2024, I swear I felt the last shred of hope I had seep out of my body and collect in a puddle on the floor.

Tomorrow, we go to the polls. After last week’s Brewers win, I have to say I’m pretty exhausted. That is where I decided to put all of my hope and energy. I know who I’m voting for. I don’t need convincing. I needed to feel something GOOD and PURELY amazing. For just a moment.

Thank you, Brew Crew, for that.

Wisconsin, especially WHITE FEMALE WISCONSINITES (because some of you all consistently fail to understand the assignment), listen to me. We can not freaking drop the ball on this one. We can’t sit it out. We can’t pick the candidates apart in some attempt at political purity (it doesn’t exist). We can’t forget what 2024 felt like. What January 6th felt like. What 2016 felt like.

We can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep doing this. We have to start clawing our way back to some semblance of normalcy because our attempts to slay the hydra and cauterize the stumps so they don’t grow new heads have yet to yield positive results. Our only option now is to drown them all in a blue wave so massive that it is an extinction event.

This past Friday, 750,000 people joined together in downtown Milwaukee — a city that Governor-hopeful Tom Tiffany has denigrated through his “Don’t Milwaukee My Wisconsin” push. People on the Right like to proudly carry their unhealthy fear of bigger cities like some sort of aw-shucks badge of honor. Like THEY know what it’s really like, so any good news coming out of the city is obviously propaganda.

Guys, the gathering on Friday for the Brewers is projected to be the largest gathering in downtown Milwaukee EVER. And it was nothing but pure JOY. Absolute, unabashed JOY. There wasn’t a single car lit on fire, person shot, fistfight, or — from what I have seen from all reports — even an ARREST.

In the most segregated city in the US, you had Black, brown, Asian, white, Native, young, old, disabled, rich, poor, and everyone in between coming together in a mass outpouring of elation.

I watched the parade through tears because, dammit, it’s been TOO. LONG.

We celebrated several immigrants. We celebrated the Power of Friendship. We celebrated healthy masculinity. We celebrated the fact that the smallest market in baseball, with one of the smallest budgets, slayed the big-budget teams by playing their hearts out and playing AS A TEAM. They weren’t out for themselves. They relied on one another through over 100 games and emerged as what one commentator called “one of the best teams in baseball — ever.”

This applies to what we are facing tomorrow, folks.

If we want our country back. If we want to be able to say we live in one of the best states in the US. If we want to hold on to that Milwaukee pride that we all had on Friday. We need to VOTE.

I don’t give a shit what the polls say.
I don’t care how many cows Tom Tiffany has cozied up to.
I don’t CARE how much Donald Trump is trying to bribe you with.

You’re not getting $5000.

I'll tell you what you will get if you vote for Tom Tiffany tomorrow: More of the same. And we just can’t do it anymore, guys.

This national nightmare has gone on long enough. We have the ability to set an example here in Wisconsin. It’s an example we set on Friday, and it’s one we can set tomorrow. We are better when we lean into joy. We are BETTER when we do things for the greater good. We are BETTER when we give a damn about one another.

Let’s do this.

Let’s WIN. OUR. WAY.

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I had mapped out parking areas and the trailhead before I left, but getting up into the winding roads of Merrimac, I must have gotten a bit turned around somehow, because I ended up parking at the Merrimac segment trailhead. Not Devil’s Lake. Once I figured out how I had screwed up, I had already hiked the Merrimac segment nearly in full. So, again, having WAY too much self-confidence for my own good, I just figured I’d knock out two segments. No big deal, right? It was only about 16 miles or so. And who knew when I would be back up to Baraboo? I had lost time to make up for!
I’d done it before! I texted my husband and told him I’d probably be done around 2 p.m., working at a 19-minute mile clip.

Stupid, stupid me.

Friends, the second I got on to the Devil’s Lake segment, things started to go downhill because things started to go uphill — if that makes sense. It was ALL UP HILL. So I would climb. Stop. Wheeze. Climb. Stop. Drink water. Climb some more. Assure the people coming down that I wasn’t going to die. Keep climbing.

It took me quite a bit of time to get to the top of the first bluff. It was just people EVERYWHERE. People sitting on rocks. People stopping for selfies. People with their dogs. People wearing the wrong damn shoes for scrambling up rocks (I mean….I saw a woman wearing LOAFERS and a BLAZER….I’m not kidding.) There were people in every corner and on every rock ledge. I completely lost the trail. I brought up my FarOut app and tried to figure out where it picked up, with all signs pointing directly down a rocky bluff. Like…just….DOWN. No real trail or path. Just climb on the rocks. The slippery rocks.

I made my way down gingerly, learning quickly that Altra Trail Runners are not the BEST rock-grippy shoes. I ended up sticking my trekking pole into my backpack strap and just climbing down like some sort of three-toed sloth. The problem with this approach was the literal LINE OF DAMN PEOPLE not only behind me wanting to climb down, but coming UP the rock climb.

I said many, many four-letter words.

I got stuck on one rock because a group of people (WEARING JEANS) wanted to stop and take a full-on photo session’s worth of selfies and group shots.

By all means, folks. I have all day. Clearly.

By the time I got to the bottom of that bluff, I was feeling — ok. My feet hurt, but I knew I had over 10 miles still to hike to even get close to where I had parked my car, so I had to suck it up. I kept trucking.

There’s a park area in between the bluffs that line Devil’s Lake. People hanging at the beach, picnicking, enjoying the last gasp of summery weather. At the edge of the park, I came upon the celebration of life for a professional rock climber who had sadly fallen near where I had just been hiking.

That was a bit jarring, if I’m being honest. I actually thought about maybe seeing if I could cut the hike short and just try to road walk back to my car.

But I pressed on. I’m nothing if not stubborn. And my car was sitting somewhere in the backroads of Merrimac, so if I hoped to make it home by dark, I had to keep hoofing it down the straightest path.

I thought that maybe the climbing portion was over.

I was not correct in this assumption. After a short road walk out of the park area, I came upon the trail again, and it started heading straight up again. I came upon two women my age who were heading down, and they said, “Keep going! It’s not so bad up there!”

I wish I could ask them what their definition of “not so bad” might be, because holy shit. More bluffs. Thankfully, no more rock scrambles. By the time I got to the top, I realized my feet were burning. I clearly had at least two blisters forming, even though I RARELY get blisters with my trusty toe-sock — wool sock — Altras combo. My only option was to keep walking, because if I kept moving, they didn’t hurt so bad. So, I walked, and I ate Clementines and Nerds Gummys, and I cursed my bad sense of direction that led me to park my car in such a stupid spot.

Coming down from the 2nd bluff (Mountain. Let’s just call that shit what it was. A Wisconsin MOUNTAIN), I came upon the Ice Age Trail campground, accessible from a road walk that went — you guessed it — straight uphill.

I texted my husband and let him know that, clearly, I was not going to be home at 2 pm because it was already 4 and I didn’t know exactly where my car was.

Per FarOut, it was about 6 miles away at this point, including about 2.5 miles of road walk that I PRAYED was FLAT.

It ended up being flat enough. By the time I hit the concrete, my legs were absolute useless noodles moving seemingly of their own accord. I couldn’t feel my feet anymore. I had to pee, but I’d be damned if I stopped at this point. It could wait.

Finally, as I waddled around a bend in the road, I saw my little car, parked right where I had left it at the wrong freaking trailhead. I waddled a little faster, and once I reached it, I melted into the seat and just sat there for a second, letting the pain wash over me in waves, the throbbing in my muscles seeming to say, “You’re a moron!”

All in all, it took me nearly ten hours to hike 20.5 miles.
Was it beautiful? GOD yes. Probably one of the prettiest parts of the state.
Do I ever want to do it again?

Nah. I’m good.

So, lesson learned. Some hikes are just bad from the get-go. They start off wrong and just continue to unravel. What’s that the influencers say now? The saxophones get louder or whatever? With all the nonsense going on at the top of the hill/bluff/pseudo-mountain, there may well have been saxophones. Who the hell knows. It was a mess. I felt like I had never hiked in my life. I’ll be taking another nice, long break before I keep chugging along on the IAT segments.

But I finished. I guess that’s the most important part. The IAT people don’t ask that it’s pretty or perfect — just that it’s done.

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After Francesca Hong lost the primary, I had to take a few days off from the constant barage of election-related content. I was simply exhausted. Yes, I am supporting David Crowley whole-heartedly. Yes, he will get my vote. But I needed a break.

Enter the baseball postseason.

Now, I have been a somewhat fairweather fan of the Milwaukee Brewers since the early days of my marriage. My husband was far more diehard, but I enjoyed watching the postseason whenever the Brewers made a good run of it. However, as a Brewer fan, I became accostomed to being let down. They haven’t made it to the World Series since 1982 — and even then, they lost.

But this was different. You could feel it from the earliest days of the season. We had a ticket package and I got to five games this year. Got to see The Miz (Jacob Misiorowski) pitch. Got to see them play “their way.” You could feel it in the air. This year, they were playing for Ueck. This year — they were playing to take it all the way.

As the postseason approached and the Brewers kept winning, my enthusiasm for the games grew. They ended the regular season with the best record in baseball and with postseason homefield advantage.

During the 2024 election, when I had the same lack of hope and fear of the future that seems to be creeping up on me now, I took to hiking in an attempt to distract myself. But as much as I adore hiking, it leaves you alone with your thoughts. That is not what I needed going into this Midterm election season.

I have decided to throw myself into the baseball frenzy. The other night, our Brewers clinched the NLDS and will be playing the Dodgers for a chance to go to the World Series starting Sunday.

What I love most about all of it is that it gives me a chance to revel in the Milwaukee-ness of it all. The vibes here are just different. It’s really hard to explain it to people who don’t live here or haven’t experienced Brewer fandom, but from the guiding light of Bob Uecker to the best manager in baseball, Pat Murphy (a perfect mix of Yoda and Major League’s Lou Brown) — our team, our stadium, our fans, and our home, they’re just different.

This year especially.

It is OUR YEAR.

I love baseball because it has given me back a small sliver of hope after far too many years of having that hope ripped away from us day after day after day. It has given us a reason to smile again, to get excited, to root for the good guys, to pour ourselves into something positive. To stand with thousands of other people and jump up and down for OUR team. To make up silly memes and poke clean fun at the opposing team.

It’s “letters from Ueck” and pocket pancakes and pocket turtles and rooting for Type 1 Diabetic Garrett Mitchell especially and seeing young players like Lara seize the moment after a pep talk from Murph. It’s watching the insanity that is The Miz.

It’s cinematic and the way things SHOULD be in this life because everything else sucks and we need this one little SHRED of amazing in our lives.

It feels a little like our old lives, which is bittersweet.

We have lost so much in the last 10 years. Our right to sanity and peace. Our ability to hope for better without being perpetually disappointed. Our feeling of safety and security. Affordability. Trust — in our government and in one another.

This postseason has given me something back that I was grieving over for some time. It’s allowed to fall truly, madly, deeply in love with Wisconsin again — Milwaukee especially. It’s allowed me to distract myself with high stakes, drama, and joy. I am going to immerse myself in it — hoping against hope that my Brew Crew can pull this off and win the whole thing.

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I was never going to be ready. It was the greatest fear of my childhood. It was a fear that followed me into adulthood, so much so that I always made sure to accept the invite to lunch, to visit her when I could, to always take her phone calls. That says a lot. I hate phone calls. I never minded them from her.

Even at 16, 17, or 18 years old, when I was at my dumbest point in life and only thought of hanging out with my friends — I would have rather have been sitting at Sophia’s Restaurant with her, shooting the shit, and eating a grilled chicken sandwich.

She would send me cards just because. They always had a funny cartoon in them or a coupon for something she thought I might need. I wasn’t ready for those cards to ever stop. I saved each one. I have a massive stack saved in a box in my closet.

We went to college together. She audited classes for two decades. I joined her American History class as a 19-year-old. That was an absolute trip. We sat side by side. We shared notes. I still have her notebooks from the class. She took the best notes.

The day she died, in 2008, was a day a lot like today: Unseasonably warm for October in Wisconsin. Bright blue sky. Birds and changing leaves. I remember thinking then how could everything be so beautiful when the world was crashing down around me?When she was leaving? It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. I would never enjoy a beautiful October day again without thinking about how beautiful it was outside that day.

The grief I inherited that day altered my life considerably. I wasn’t sure how to live without her being a phone call away. She had always just been there. I was a new mother in 2008. I was just getting started in life and my career. I was so selfish then. I was angry at the universe for taking her when I felt I needed her most.

Grief is having an immense amount of love and no place to put it. So it just buries you sometimes. Waves of it — until you feel like you can’t breathe.

Even though the grief is not as raw as it was 18 years ago, it still comes around to visit with annoying regularity. I’m sitting here now, writing this as a 46-year-old — 18 years removed from that day — with a lump firmly in my throat and a steady flow of tears. October 8th is still the worst day. As far as I can see, I will still feel the loss ten years from now. Twenty years from now. The day it’s my turn to leave.

What stings the most, perhaps, is the fact that to me, my grandmother was the center of my world. I always feel her as a living, breathing person. Someone I had countless conversations with. If I think hard enough, I can hear her laugh and picture her shoving her tongue into her cheek like she always did when she was gossiping or saying something snarky (which was often). She was a real person.

To my children, she is a ghost. A black-and-white picture. A story.

I have struggled for years to explain to my kids, the oldest of whom was only a year old when Grandma Betty died and the other two having not been born yet, what she was really like. How incredible she actually was. How funny she was. How smart she was.

I feel like part of my duty is to make sure she’s not left to sit collecting dust. To tell the stories and make her real again.

So every October 8th, I try to push through the remaining grief that I carry and say her name out loud. Remember that for a moment in time she was here, and the impact she had on me is still being felt.

I know the reality is that I will grieve forever, and that is the price we all must pay for loving people. Someday they’ll be gone. Someday we’ll be gone. And I guess the best we can hope for is that someone out there loved us deeply enough to be willing to carry the burden of grief in our honor for the rest of their time on this Earth.

Also today, a judge ordered that Trump had to admit the journalists from CNN, MSNOW, and Politico that he had banned in accordance with our Constitution (Remember that? The Constitution?) This was after Trump threw a little tizzy about the lack of coverage of Xi Jinping’s visit to DC. Turns out journalists will back one another up, in most cases. Once CNN, MSNOW, and Politico were banned from the press pool, the rest of the press corps refused to cover Trump via the video pool in solidarity.

As of 2 hours ago (4:52 CST on 9/24/2026), access has been restored. For how long? Who knows.

Though this looks like it will just become yet another blip in the onslaught of absurdity coming out of this administration — one most people will likely forget about by next week when he does something else stupid — it sets a precedent that our own Tom Tiffany is embracing. Looks like Tiffany agrees that if he doesn’t like the coverage from a certain outlet, he can just ban them from access to his campaign.

This signals a dangerous turn in this country, happening with not enough attention or fury from those of us who believe in freedom of the press and journalistic integrity. We are living in a moment where social media-bred trolls like Nick Shirley are carrying around those laughably tiny clip-on microphones (I mean, do they KNOW that those are meant to clip on your clothes?) and calling themselves “journalists”. It is a time when anyone can consider themselves a good news source and anyone with a large enough platform — the President, for instance — can cast doubt on the professionals who studied the craft, who work hard at telling the truth about what is happening behind the fences erected around the White House, and who are up against a formidable foe in the form of a giant man-baby day in and day out.

Freedom of the press has its roots in Colonial America. For a bunch of people who consider themselves the ultimate patriots, their hatred of a free press is pretty laughable. But, then again, so is everything else they do; so are we really surprised? They are a group rooted in contradiction, antiintellectualism, and a lack of knowledge of history.

Before American independence, journalists and writers could be — and often were — charged with “seditious libel” for writing things that criticized the government. One of the most important trials of that period was that of NY printer John Peter Zenger, who in 1735 was charged with seditious libel for his writings about colonial governor William Cosby. His crafty lawyer was able to get him acquitted by proving that what Zenger had written was true. It didn’t create a long-standing law, but it became a powerful symbol for writers who criticized their government.

In 1791, the First Amendment of the Constitution was ratified and stated, in part, “Congress shall make no law … abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press.”

In a word, writers can call out their government officials. They can report on what those officials are doing. The government works for us; they are not dictators.

This is not to say that freedom of the press has never been challenged in the US since. The Sedition Act of 1918 prosecuted antiwar speech under the guise of national security. In 1971, the Nixon Administration tried — and failed — to stop newspapers from publishing a classified history of US decision-making regarding Vietnam.

The First Amendment has evolved, especially since the dawn of social media. We are living in a journalistic Wild West right now. I mean, I’m writing to you right now from my little office in Wisconsin on a website dedicated to the idea that ANYONE can be a journalist.

But the enduring idea in this country, forged by our Founding Fathers, is a press that may criticize its government, a press that can investigate misconduct (especially when it is as egregious as what is coming out of today’s White House), and publish pieces that are of public interest and public concern.

The moment we decide to allow our President — or the Keebler Elf running for Governor of Wisconsin — to exert control over the press, we have lost the plot completely. We cannot call ourselves a country steeped in freedom and then do nothing when the sentient diaper rash living in the White House decides he’s just going to start his own Trump TV news station. Nope. Not Uh.

You know who destroyed his country’s free press and started his very own little propaganda rag?

Hitler.
It was called Völkischer Beobachter (“People’s Observer”).

It is a dangerous road we begin to traverse when we give politicians free rein to turn away journalists. It’s a journey some are willing to take, but I caution them that backtracking may not be so easy. Once you go full fascist, correcting course can be challenging, to say the least. Our best option is to recognize this for what it is and fight back as much as we can. We keep writing. We keep sharing legitimate news sources. We keep loudly protesting when people like Tom Tiffany turn away journalists.

As for Tom and Don?

Here’s an idea…..

If Tom Tiffany and Donald Trump don’t want to have unflattering pieces published about them, perhaps they could consider not being such feckless, lukewarm-IQ, mediocre asshats?

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I want you to sit with that for a second. OUR CURRENT PRESIDENT is not standing with his country, solemnly acknowledging one of the darkest days in our history, a day that happened WHEN HE WAS A NEW YORKER. He’s not there. Know why he’s not there? Because he couldn’t give a speech.

He couldn’t make it all about himself and ramble on about windmills or how “dumb” is spelled with a “B” or whatever else pours out of his dementia-addled brain. So, he’s not there.

Let’s reflect on this.

He. Isn’t. There.

For ten years, even for the four years when Biden was in the Office trying to clean up this guy’s first mess, we have lived beneath the shadow of this stupid, feckless man. A man who has been given so much power and authority that it doesn’t seem to matter WHAT he does — or how illegal it is. Checks and balances are gone. They no longer apply. Just this week, he offered up a bribe to the American people, promising $5000 if they vote for Republicans in the Midterms. This is completely illegal, but what is it to the Republicans? Anything to maintain control, I suppose.

We are so very, very broken. And yet, there are still people who, if this POS were to run again tomorrow, even though it is completely unconstitutional, would vote for him. AGAIN. He has done absolutely nothing within the office of the Presidency but abuse people and enrich himself to the tune of BILLIONS — but some people still hold out hope that if they just believe, their ship will eventually come in. And at the helm? A geriatric mid-2000s reality TV “star” (‘star’ doing a lot of heavy lifting there) whom they have made their king.

I am so over it that I don’t even have the words for how over it I am at this point.

The reflection on the 25th Anniversary of a day many of us are old enough to remember watching in horror live on our television sets should be something bigger than one man. Yet, even in his absence, it is about him. About the lies he has told about his experiences in the days following. About his refusal to show up.

You are going to have people all over social media say, “He’s at the Pentagon!”

Yeah. At the Pentagon. Where Hegseth let him talk. Where they let him make it about himself.

Wake. the. hell. up.

I hate that this has been done to us.

I struggle to forgive those who have supported this since 2015, when he rode his sorry ass down that gold escalator and somehow convinced millions of Americans that his mediocrity was worth celebrating.

I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how anyone can listen to that man pretend he is Godly, pretend he cares about anyone but himself, pretend that he’s going to send them money and lower gas prices, but instead he gets us wrapped up in a war (without congressional approval, mind you) and starts tearing down portions of the White House, and they CHEER. They are CHEERING the demise of our country.

He is fiddling as Rome burns with his UFC fights and his stupid little jerk-off dance and his pointless Midterm rally.

Look at where we are. It has been 25 years since many of you watched the same thing I did: Two planes slam into the World Trade Center buildings. A plane slammed into the Pentagon. A plane nosedived into a field in Shanksville. THE WORLD CHANGED in real time. And just 25 years later, many of you have taken to the internet to call the current NYC mayor a terrorist and to excuse our current President’s immature temper tantrum as somehow a completely understandable and excusable display of….what? I have no idea anymore.

What the hell happened to some of you?

What many of us have learned over the course of ten years is that many of the people around us are so socially inept or media illiterate that not only do they not acknowledge that they are being obviously conned, but they WELCOME it. They believe they are mavericks. They believe that through a steady diet of Fox News and AI-generated Facebook posts, THEY alone have discovered the ‘Truth’ that the “Dumbocrats” (there’s a ‘B’ there, if you didn’t know) are simply too stupid to see.

These people BELIEVE, in their heart of hearts, that teachers are giving children sex changes in public schools. They BELIEVE that the “jab” either kills people or injects nanotechnology into their arms so they are not only magnetic, but highly traceable by the “liberal elite”. They BELIEVE that Donald J. Trump hasn’t accepted a PENNY of his Presidential salary because he is a kind, honorable man who simply wants to help everyday Americans — like themselves. It couldn’t be that enriching himself and his family through various scams and schemes is far more lucrative? NO! Surely not! It’s the other thing. They’re sure of it.

Know what I believe? I believe that for many of these devotees, there is a sunk cost dilemma happening in their brains. They went ALL IN on a lie, and now they are either too ashamed to own up to having been had……or they figure they’ve gone this far; they have to stick with their lame horse who should have been shipped off to the glue factory years ago.

Here’s the truth. It’s right in front of your faces, folks. Right now, people are gathered at the reflecting pools marking where the Twin Towers once stood. Their heads are bowed, and they are quietly and respectfully marking the day that the world changed for all Americans.

And he’s not there.

That speaks volumes, and if you refuse to see it or acknowledge it, the problem is you.

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Let’s face it, the last few years have been an absolute trash heap set ablaze by the absolute dumbest people to ascend to power. Perhaps in history.
In the last year alone, we’ve had ICE killing people in the streets, diarrhea lettuce, a cage fight on the lawn of the White House, and Little Lord Fauntleroy chopping down the cherry trees in DC to make way for his stupid golf course. And that’s not even the half of it.

In addition, we’ve lost some incredible people in 2025 and into 2026. Rob Reiner was murdered by his son. Catherine O’Hara died seemingly out of nowhere. Bob Weir. James Van der Beek. Sam Neill. Eric Dane. Hayden Panetierre. Diane Keaton. Robert Redford. Brian Wilson. Pope Francis. Val Kilmer. Gene Hackman. George Foreman. David Lynch. TIM FREAKING CURRY.

Not since 2016 have we had a more tragic run of celebrity deaths.

Just this past week, I was putzing online, as you do, when I caught that the official Dolly Parton Facebook page posted a very ominous-looking video. Something about it immediately made my hair stand on end. Mostly because it wasn’t of Dolly. It was some mustachioed dude in a suit against a plain black background. I caught the posting before it had a SINGLE “like” or comment. 1 minute into its appearance online.

Now, I’m what people would consider a “Death Hag”, which sounds TERRIBLE, but it basically just means I have an interest in celebrity death. HOW they died. Where they’re buried. That sort of thing. I’m a big fan of Hollywood Graveyard on YouTube. It’s not weird.
I swear.
It’s also not that niche. There’s lots of Death Hags.

So, I’ve seen PLENTY of “official announcements”. I knew without even PLAYING that video that Dolly Parton had died.

I played the video. Sure enough. Then I went to my job’s Slack channel and said “Uh….guys…..”
Then I hit the internet looking for an official announcement. TMZ. CNN. Anything. Nothing. Almost 10 whole minutes went by before it hit the news.

Now, celebrity death is nothing earth-shattering. I mean, celebrities….they’re just like us! They die. They die in accidents, of illness, and of old age.

But Dolly Parton was one of those rare people that you thought, against all common sense, would live forever. Because who could imagine a world without Dolly in it? She was a celebrity about whom it would be hard to find negative press. She was someone about whom it would be nearly impossible to find someone with an unkind word to say. She loved everyone, she put her money where her mouth was, she helped others in big and small ways, and, on top of everything else, she was insanely talented.

All of this is why losing her has been such a gut punch to much of the United States. Because we have been going THROUGH IT lately, and now we have to do it without Dolly.

She represented the best of what humanity has to offer our country at a time when we desperately needed it. And perhaps it was selfish of us to ask so much from her? She was just one person. Simply a songwriter. A singer. An actress. Why do we feel that how Dolly lived her life was so outside of the norm that the vibe has to end with her passing?

There are lists that go around. Lists of people who the internet feels must be protected at “all costs”. These lists always included Dolly. If there’s any lesson to be learned from the outpouring of grief for Miss Parton, it is that we can ALL be better. We can all try, every day, to just be a little bit more like Dolly Parton. Give back. Smile at someone. Hell, sing a song with someone just for fun. Encourage your kids to read. Never tell your daughters that they can’t do something just because they’re girls. Be fantastically original. Guard your privacy. Guard your love. Get vaccinated. Learn how to play an instrument. Be independent with your finances. Be staunchly anti-racist.

We’ll miss Dolly. But I believe we can take it from here.

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I turned 40 as COVID was raging and the world was shut down. The only space we had outside of our homes was the internet. There was no shortage of women already well into their 40s warning us about perimenopause, mental load, and the incredible shift that happens somewhere in this chapter that makes us unrecognizable to ourselves. I didn’t think anythin…

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Because this is where we need to lock in and lock in hard, Wisconsin.

After tomorrow, the WI Right is going to…

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I am a hopeful person going into these midterms. Despite all the efforts on the Right to demonize the person I am backing in the Wisconsin gubernatorial race, I am still choosing to believe that YES. WE. CAN. That hope does not need to be deferred.

What is causing a few less-than-hopeful moments is when I see people on the Left, people on MY SIDE, sowi…

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In the midst of a r…

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Out & Back Tip Jar

(Tips help me keep Out & Back up and running. Thanks so much!)

Unless you’ve been under a rock the past few days in Wisconsin (or one of those folks who still swears you’re just ‘not into politics’), you’re aware of the recent shakeup among the Democratic candidates for Wisconsin governor.

Sara Rodriguez, someone many considered the most logical choice,…

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Yesterday, I was diligently working away in my office when I spotted a lanky figure creeping up my driveway. I love our house, but it has a fatal flaw in that there are massive windows in the front, along with a front door that is all windows. We cannot hide from door-to-door salesmen or people trying to sell us on God.

Or, as it happens, Tom Tiffany sh…

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This morning I woke up to the news that Senator Lindsay Graham, Trump lapdog and Memaw’s very special boy, had died suddenly at 71.

This amid a month-long vigil over the probably-dead Mitch McConnell.

This amid Iran lobbing a threat to Trump’s life. Again.

This amid the trial for Charlie Kirk’s alleged killer kicking off in Utah.

This amid — everything e…

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The night that it became clear that Trump was going to win the 2024 election, I went to bed with a feeling of such abject defeat and despondency that I didn’t know what to do with myself. We couldn’t do this again, could we? Would our country survive another four years of that man in charge?

I Slacked my boss and told her I needed a mental health day for…

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It was about 3 weeks into our Florida adventure. The decision to move was made quickly. I was exhausted from over a year of trying to immigrate. My resources for thinking of new ideas and adventures were depleted. I was also aware that my husband had supported the Canada dream,…

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“Florida? Are you serious? I mean…..it’s…..Florida.”

I’m pretty sure that was my exact response to my husband on a random night in Spring of 2021 when he suggested we consider moving to Florida.

Let me back up.

We had both been born and raised in Wisconsin. In 2018, we built what was to be my dream country home in rural Janesville. It had shitty internet…

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