Happy Tuesday, everyone, and welcome back to Carnival of Fools! This is going to be my weekly newsletter from now on, so drop everything immediately — up to and including any toddlers you may be currently holding — and subscribe here now. Do it as if a pitiably sympathetic orphan’s life depended on it! Because starting next week, this will be delivered to your email inbox early in the morning, hopefully just in time for you to arise and grumble about how otherwise useless Tuesdays are.
And Tuesdays really are boring. There’s none of the joy of Friday through Sunday, the hump-day midweek drama of Wednesday, the anticipation of a Thursday, or even the dread of Monday. In fact, I’m convinced my bosses scheduled me to do this feature on the most anticlimactic day of the week very intentionally; my proof is that someone here once told me, “Boring stuff is kind of your wheelhouse, Jeff.” And while I agree that this would typically be the ideal day to run down things like my list of top-five favorite extinct Indo-European languages, maybe not for a while yet. For we are currently hurtling toward Election Day — literally the most important Tuesday in the world — like confused bats winging their way into hell instead of out of it.
A little over a month and a half remains until November 5. Someone just tried to shoot Donald Trump, again, two days ago. However ugly it is right now, it will only get crazier and worse. I can’t lie to you about your chances, but you have my sympathies.
At least it’ll be a memorable journey, regardless of how it all turns out! That may be the most cheerless sort of consolation, so if you subscribe I hope to offer you a far better one: something thoughtful and witheringly sardonic every Tuesday morning. If we’re doomed to be stuck to our seats and forced to watch this ridiculous circus unfold, at least we can enjoy heckling the clowns. Sign up today and grab a seat next to me.
The Race Is Not to the Swift
My debut column was filed before the presidential debate between Kamala Harris and Donald Trump. Some people predicted that Kamala Harris would spout word salad all night. (She instead saved that for her first one-on-one interview.) Others predicted that Trump would do poorly. But I can 100 percent guarantee that you didn’t predict what America would still be discussing breathlessly a week after that night.
Yes, people, I’m talking about Taylor Swift. America’s most suffocatingly omnipresent pop idol finally endorsed a presidential candidate! (Did I hear a chorus of barks and meows in disappointment? Sorry, this column remains a pet-free zone, friends.) Tay-Tay’s official endorsement of Harris ’24 — I lost a lot of money with my bookie betting on the surprise MAGA endorsement this year — was timed to drop at the conclusion of the debate, and it has electrified the nation. It’s also thrown my own vote back up for grabs — I’ll write in her latest six producers now. Swift says that Harris spoke to her, as a young woman, on the issues, and all I can say is that, in that case, they speak a language foreign to me.
I chose to not pay attention to any of this at first, as is my wont. We briefly noted it around the NR watercooler, and nobody really felt like there was much to say. She had endorsed Joe Biden in 2020, after all — her Democratic leanings were no secret. Her “newfound megastardom” didn’t seem like a very sturdy hook, either; Taylor Swift is the most famous woman in the world in 2024, yes, but Taylor Swift was also the most famous woman in the world in 2020. I know that we all watched her add star power to yet another miserable Chiefs Super Bowl last winter, and since Gen Z women run the cultural world, I couldn’t avoid the Eras Tour as much as I wished to, just as I couldn’t avoid those stupid “Covid era” albums that had no actual melodies on them either.
And who cares, really? In fact, if you believe the New York Post, Swift’s endorsement of Harris “turns more voters from Harris than it attracts,” with fully 20 percent of YouGov respondents saying it makes them less likely to support Harris in November. But I wouldn’t get particularly exercised about a single poll, particularly because nobody votes on the basis of Taylor Swift’s endorsement. Unless you personally work in her entourage — I hear she pays exceptionally well, so apply for a job now — I doubt she’s capable of moving you to vote if you otherwise felt like staying at home.
Which is why Donald Trump had to go and randomly shriek “I HATE TAYLOR SWIFT!” on his boutique Truth Social website this weekend, as if he were a lonely baby desperate for attention or a change of subject, seeking to pick a fight. A stupid political sideshow designed to distract us from what really matters. Speaking of which, let’s talk about the real biggest story since last week, which of course is . . .
Somebody Tried to Shoot Donald Trump, Again
Everybody knows this is authentically the biggest story of the week — assassination attempts on presidential candidates have a tendency to blot out the sun — but you can hardly blame me for slotting it second when it happened right before this newsletter went to press and I’ve already written up my basic take for the site. (Short version: Get Trump full Secret Service protection now, or else we all know where this is headed.)
Here, I would like to say a few more words. I care not about the would-be assassin’s motivation. Apparently it was “Ukraine.” But it obviously could have been “underpants gnomes,” had underpants gnomes been a major campaign issue in 2024; all accounts of the attempted shooter’s life make it clear that he was a delusional madman above all else, which “explains” him to my satisfaction. I care instead about the media’s tone in reaction to the attempt. There is something appalling about the surly media response to the second assassination attempt on Trump, one best epitomized by NBC’s Lester Holt finding a way on Sunday to blame it on Trump: “Today’s apparent assassination attempt comes amid increasingly fierce rhetoric on the campaign trail. Mr. Trump, his running mate JD Vance continue to make baseless claims about Haitian immigrants.”
This is but one mere analogous step — an agonizingly obvious one, when pointed out — away from “But, your honor, she was wearing a short skirt.” (The odious David Frum has locked up this line of reasoning as if his personal brand depends on it.) Trump and Vance have been playing fast and loose with the Springfield, Ohio, story — this newsletter lost 700 words on that because of breaking news, perhaps for the better — but framing an assassination attempt (inspired by Ukraine policy, if anything) as something that Trump kinda, sorta brought on himself by being icky is repulsive. It is an abdication of both personal moral judgment and professional media responsibility to even give voice to such thoughts in public — a disgrace to all who echo it. And it betrays so very much about how many in the media want to treat this event. (The groundlings on Twitter have no such compunction about cloaking their thoughts, of course. Witness the responses to this.)
I don’t need the media to blame themselves for the Trump assassination attempts — I, myself, do not — but I ask as a matter of principle that they also refrain from blaming an assassination-attempt victim for the bullets intended for him . . . unless they secretly want to imply that he deserves it.
The Feds Harpoon RFK Jr.
A man just can’t catch a break sometimes. First you get addicted to heroin at age 15 out of boredom. (Who among us has not?) Then you ping-pong around for the next 40 years or so chasing hard drugs, adulterous sex, and falconry, in equal measure, before embracing the healing power of Mother Nature — particularly the version of her red in tooth and claw — and think things are all right. But now, noted bear-slicin’, whale-dicin’ outdoorsman Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has announced that he is formally under federal investigation for what every red-blooded American instinctively understands should never be outlawed: Back in 1992, he chainsawed off the skull of a freshly beached dead whale in Hyannis Port, Mass., and drove it home tied to the roof of his car.
As all can agree, these are the actions of a freeborn man of the U.S.A. Apparently, after the story surfaced last month in the New York Times, the feds started to poke their heads in — this as RFK Jr. dropped out of the race and endorsed Donald Trump. I don’t really have much more to add to this news update than what I’ve already written (with immense joy) about Bobby “Bubba” Kennedy’s adventures with deceased wildlife, but I will say this: I hope one day to see that whale head, and I hope it’s mounted in a place of pride in whatever subterranean home abattoir he keeps it in.
What I’m Listening to: Nick Lowe
I could try and write a long introduction to explain the glories of singer-songwriter Nick Lowe, one of my favorite artists of the rock era, but I already did that a year ago. In particular, I’m listening to this wonderful playlist I made on YouTube of his greatest work, spanning the entire length and breadth of his career from 1970 to the present. And why am I listening to Lowe? Well, as a side gig I host a music-focused podcast here at National Review, Political Beats, and if you click on that link sometime midday today, we will have a very special episode for you — a true highlight of our seven-year career.
Until then? See you around NR, and right here next week.