“You can kiss your sales from your Republican audience goodbye, Taylor. I hope you enjoyed them while you had them,” wrote the podcaster Megyn Kelly after the billionaire singer-songwriter Taylor…

President Joe Biden may be pushed aside in Washington, D.C., but, as far as he is concerned, in Wilmington, he is still on top of the world. And why not? His name is on the city’s Amtrak station, the…

The story of Pete Rose is the story of America. It’s my story. It’s our story. A life failed, in the richest and most spectacular fashion. A miserable, downtrodden, hopeless romance with the juice.…

Culture Taylor Swift’s ‘Errors’ Tour? The superstar singer, supporting Harris for president, tests whether political activism is bad for business. Credit: image via Shutterstock “You can kiss your sales from your Republican audience goodbye, Taylor. I hope you enjoyed them while you had them,” wrote the podcaster Megyn Kelly after the billionaire singer-songwriter Taylor Swift endorsed Kamala Harris for president. In Kelly’s estimation, Swift did so at the most opportunistic moment and in the most annoying way possible, and ought to pay a price for it. She held off until just after former President Donald Trump’s less-than-stellar performance in his televised September 10 debate with Vice President Kamala Harris, and then posted a picture on Instagram with a cat posed on her shoulder along with a note. After laying out her reasons for endorsing the Democratic ticket of Harris and Gov. Tim Walz (MN), the singer signed off with the words “Taylor Swift, Childless Cat Lady.” This was a dig at the Republican vice presidential hopeful, Sen. J.D. Vance (OH), who wants the tax code changed to further incentivize childrearing and has characterized some of his opponents using the term Swift embraced. It was also a shot at Trump himself, who amplified rumors of Haitian refugees in the U.S. eating cats and dogs in his debate with Harris. Her post-debate endorsement kicked off two new debates. One debate was about Swift’s influence on the election. The other, arguably more interesting debate was about the repercussions for Swift’s brand from her political activism. Swift’s endorsement, like a great many of her words and actions, made headlines. “Swift outswaggers Trump with her Kamala Harris vote,” the front page of the Los Angeles Times blared. In her Instagram note, she explained her own choice and encouraged her supporters to cast their own informed votes. On the choice to endorse at all, Swift argued that she was pushed into it by Trump and his campaign. “Recently I was made aware that AI of ‘me’ falsely endorsing Donald Trump’s presidential run was posted to his site,” she wrote. “It really conjured up my fears around AI, and the dangers of spreading misinformation. It brought me to the conclusion that I need to be very transparent about my actual plans for this election as a voter. The simplest way to combat misinformation is with the truth.” Swift endorsed Harris as a “steady-handed, gifted leader” who embodies “calm and not chaos.” She also praised Gov. Walz, who she said “has been standing up for LGBTQ+ rights, IVF, and a woman’s right to her own body for decades.” She told supporters that they ought to do their own “research” to cast an informed choice, and gave them a reminder: “Remember that in order to vote, you have to be registered! I also find it’s much easier to vote early.” The hope of Harris supporters is that many of Swift’s fans, known as “Swifties,” will register and vote early, giving the ticket a boost in what is shaping up to be a close election in the electoral college. Conversely, the hope of Trump supporters is that the endorsement will turn out to be ineffectual or, better yet, backfire. Early evidence is mixed. “Taylor Swift’s impact on voter engagement is undeniable,” Andrea Hailey, chief executive of Vote.org, told the New York Times. “The important thing to remember is that Taylor’s work serves as a model that everyone with a platform can use to encourage Americans to participate in civic engagement.” Ryan James Girdusky, author of the National Populist Newsletter and a contributing editor of The American Conservative, poured cold water all over similar assessments. “Following Taylor Swift’s endorsement of Kamala Harris, there was no noticeably significant voter registration surge in crucial swing states compared to 2020,” he wrote. “Republicans out-registered Democrats in North Carolina, Florida, and Pennsylvania in the week that followed her endorsement.” The effects on Swift’s reputation are easier to quantify, at least in the short term. Morning Consult ran surveys and found that her negatives among Republicans have climbed to 57 percent today, up from 35 percent in February. It’s still true that 49 percent of voters overall have favorable vibes toward Swift, but the bottom line, according to the consultancy, is that she has become “more polarizing.” That’s not necessarily bad news in politics. Polarization can be an effective way to win elections. But businesses typically aim for the widest support possible, and Swift’s business had been booming. Swift’s Eras Tour concert ticket sales are forecast to reach $2.2 billion, and the tour film did over $100 million in advanced ticket sales. On the U.S. leg, Swift brought in “an estimated $13 million in ticket sales per night, attracting an average of 72,000 spectators per concert,” Statista reported. Swift also amassed her dragon’s horde in a novel way. “In October 2023, Taylor Swift accomplished a feat no other musician had before: she became a billionaire primarily off of earnings from her music and performances,” Forbes reported. The fact that Swift did this without any “side hustles” may be impressive. Nevertheless, in theory it should render her business more vulnerable to reputational damage that comes along with political bad blood. The Los Angeles Times published a spate of letters in response to its cover story about her endorsement that were surprisingly hostile. One writer brought up the famous quote by basketball superstar Michael Jordan. “Republicans buy sneakers too,” Jordan quipped. That didn’t stop him from making political donations to progressive politicians during the height of his career, but it did make him less of an outspoken activist. On top of that, many critics have pointed to a “get woke, go broke” dynamic in popular entertainment that could apply here. Sometimes cultural political shifts by content makers can alienate part of their original audience. Swift had released songs that contained such themes, particularly 2019’s culture-war courting song and music video, “You Need to Calm Down.” More recently she zagged. In her hit song “Anti-Hero,” Swift even took a shot at her own past self as “the problem.” “Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism / Like some kind of congressman?” the narrator asks. “I wake up screaming from dreaming / One day I’ll watch as you’re leaving.” Yet so far evidence that Swift’s Harris-Walz endorsement is driving away a mass of fans is only anecdotal. Some fans who are also Trump supporters have complained publicly and sold off their concert tickets. These have found ready buyers. Her music continues to be in heavy rotation on the radio and streaming. Her song, “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart,” was at number 34 on Billboard’s Hot 100 at press time, for instance, down from number 26 the week before. Swift’s publicist, Tree Paine, was asked for a statement from Swift speaking to her Republican fans but did not deign to reply. The post Taylor Swift’s ‘Errors’ Tour? appeared first on The American Conservative.

Politics Joe Biden, Temporary King The president relives his glory days in Delaware while he can. Credit: image via Shutterstock President Joe Biden may be pushed aside in Washington, D.C., but, as far as he is concerned, in Wilmington, he is still on top of the world. And why not? His name is on the city’s Amtrak station, the nearest highway rest stop, and a slew of other civic landmarks. Local restaurants for decades have claimed to be his “favorite” lunch spot. Ice cream parlors all over the state proudly feature photos of him sampling their wares. He has spent about 40 percent of his term out of the White House, mostly on vacation in Delaware. And since he announced that he would not be seeking the Oval Office again, Biden has been at home more than ever, forsaking the bitter present to sink into sepia-toned reminiscences of past glory.  Whenever possible, Biden uses his remaining powers to compel others to share in these reveries. Recently he invited the heads of state for India, Japan, and Australia to Wilmington to discuss their alliance with the United States against China. It was the first time the president had brought any foreign leaders to Delaware—also probably the last time—and Biden invested the affair with all the “personal touches” of an old man reorganizing his curio cabinet. He personally led the three on a tour of his house, a stately DuPont mansion in the Wilmington suburbs built on a manmade lake—“the kind of place a thousand Italian guys died building,” Richard Ben Cramer once remarked. There, he regaled them with tales of how he bought the estate and fixed it up. Since his days in the Senate, the house has been Biden’s obsession: He famously rode the Amtrak home every day just so he could wake up under its roof. On those trips, he would often study architectural magazines or dream up new improvements to his property. Soon he will have all the time in the world for it.  But a tour of the house alone wasn’t enough. Biden also dragged his visiting dignitaries down memory lane at his old high school, where for two days they discussed foreign policy—and how far Uncle Joe has come since his teenaged stutter. In high school, as Biden frequently reminds his audiences, he was a real dud: the poor kid, not exactly popular, until he overcame his speech impediment. Just like Demosthenes, who recited aloud for hours on end with pebbles in his mouth, he trained himself out of it. And now look at me, Biden declared to his captive audience: “I don’t think the headmaster of this school thought I’d be presiding over a meeting like this!” The respective heads of India, Japan, and Australia politely applauded the senescent in the president’s chair, perhaps smiling inwardly at his impending departure from global politics.  Biden’s communications advisor John Kirby glossed the president’s antics that weekend as public-mindedness—“showing a place and a community that shaped so much of the public servant and the leader that he became”—but the truth behind Biden’s odd behavior is something stranger. It isn’t just that the addled president, newly cut loose by his own party and free from the scrutiny of the other, is running victory laps in his head. It is that because the president’s time is limited, it is his prerogative to run as wild as he pleases until at the appointed hour his handlers lead him away from sight. What I mean is that Joe Biden is the American incarnation of the temporary king, that ancient, savage office so vividly described in J.G. Frazer’s Golden Bough.  The origins of the temporary king are obscure, but its practice more or less runs along these lines. Every year during a public festival in ancient Babylon, Frazer writes, the true king temporarily abdicated his office to an imposter. During that time, “a prisoner condemned to death was dressed in the king’s robes, seated on the king’s throne, allowed to issue whatever commands he pleased, to eat, drink, and enjoy himself, and to lie with the king’s concubines.” His brief rule always ended in execution: “At the end of the five days he was stripped of his royal robes, scourged, and hanged or impaled.” Why? Hard to say. Frazer theorizes that the temporary king was a salvific figure, a fool who died in the robes of royalty to redeem the world, prefiguring, and, by the hard-headed Scotsman’s lights, discrediting, Christ’s sacrifice on the cross.  In any case, I have found it useful, especially in recent months, to think of Biden’s presidency as in the tradition of temporary kingship. The United States is not Babylon. But the analogy is compelling nonetheless. No one, not even within Biden’s party, has ever considered him a real president. Rather, he was a sacrifice offered up in the hopes that a real president might be found. His nomination in 2020 was a stopgap solution, a fix put in place until the Democratic Party could find a more suitable leader among the also-rans. (The same could be said of the electorate’s thoughts in November.) His term was similarly unreal, marked by the continuation and resurrection of both his predecessors’ policies, a holding pattern from which the future real president would emerge. And his downfall, if Biden’s premature ejection from power could be dignified with that grand term, was in actuality only the end of the dream, for, at last, the true president had been discovered, at the side of the temporary king all along.   Of course, there are other elements of the temporary king which do not pertain to Biden at all. (In some traditions, Frazer tells us, he is required to stand on one foot for his entire short reign.) But others are striking. Frazer writes that in 16th-century Persia the Shah Abbas the Great was once warned by his astrologers that a serious danger hung over the person of the king. Remembering the custom of temporary kingship, Abbas abdicated the throne, giving it over to a Christian, hoping that the danger might fall upon him instead. “The substitute was accordingly crowned, and for three days,” Frazer writes, “he enjoyed not only the name and the state but the power of the king. At the end of his brief reign he was put to death: the decree of the stars was fulfilled by this sacrifice; and Abbas, who reascended his throne in a most propitious hour, was promised by his astrologers a long and glorious reign.”    This, if we can substitute a literal for political execution, is more or less the story of Joe Biden, that unfortunate man who, during a period of turmoil, was placed in the role of the presidency to absorb the shocks and blows of national distress until the time came that he could be safely removed. Now that time is fast coming—actually, it is arriving in slow motion—and Biden is spending his remaining days doing as any other temporary king would: eating, drinking, and making merry. He knows his time is limited, so he’s going out on top, even if only in Delaware. The post Joe Biden, Temporary King appeared first on The American Conservative.

Culture Put Pete Rose in the Hall of Fame Degenerates need examples, too.  The story of Pete Rose is the story of America. It’s my story. It’s our story. A life failed, in the richest and most spectacular fashion. A miserable, downtrodden, hopeless romance with the juice. A desperate desire to fix. And the supreme knowledge that any day—and for Pete it was Monday—life comes falling down no matter how well we play our cards.  And so I couldn’t help but feel a sweet pang of sadness and twisted fate when, leaving the Megalopolis screening on a rainy, cold September night, I read Pete had died. In that moment, whatever triumphs he manufactured on the diamond didn’t matter much to me. As a 37-year-old, I never really knew Pete the player. But I knew Pete the gambler.  I know the smell of a casino floor at 7 AM, when beleaguered baccarat players are scooping up their winnings as cold-blooded, red-eyed monsters gear up for a day at the horse track. When I worked for Citizen Free Press, I had too much money and too much time and too much anger to know what to do with. I’d throw whatever I could at the ponies, or the wheel, or the gridiron. Anything, really. Didn’t matter. The Buffalo Thunder Casino and Sportsbook was a slumlord’s paradise—where riches went to die, and for three long, arduous years it was my pain palace.  I knew each bookie by name. Paula, Ben, Julio. Paula was my favorite.  March Madness was always the toughest month for me, with games running 13 hours straight for an entire week. On those days, I was one of the first through the Thunder’s door. Paula offered coffee or a stale croissant—the perks of being a degenerate—and asked which channel I wanted the big screen on. Looking for an edge one morning, I asked Paula who the best handicapper was in the joint and she pointed to the corner.  There sat John—a tall, bronze man of Aztec descent who would’ve made a fine warrior centuries before. Smoking was prohibited in the casino but every time I looked in John’s direction, I spotted phantom smoke curls, whipping and jumping off his bald head. Maybe it was just the steam rolling off his brain. Maybe it was the same pain I felt, showing itself in ways unknown. Whatever it was, John was cooking. John would sit there from sun up to sun down with a long sheet of games in front of him. Depending on the time of day, men would huddle around John and ask for his take on a litany of games. He loved to give advice. John knew baseball, he knew basketball, he knew football. Hell, John knew soccer and the horses too. More than anything, John knew himself: a gambler.  Early one morning, when no one was around, I stood up, walked to the corner, and pushed out my hand—“I hear you’re the best sports bettor in this wormhole.” A big, bellicose laugh rang from his innards. “Who told you that?” I pointed to Paula. “She just takes my money.” He laughed again. This time, so did I. John told me to take a seat. He wanted to know: Who did I like? “Duquesne ML,” I replied. I had just watched the Dukes rip the living, beating soul from my VCU Rams in the A-10 Final and the underdogs looked primed to make some noise in March. John laughed again. It wasn’t in his nature to bet underdogs. He liked betting favorites and he liked to bet them big. “Who do you got?” I asked. “South Carolina women. Spread. -35.5.” He cackled. I could see the steam rising from underneath his ballcap.  There are many ways to bet on sports. The moneyline (or ML) is the simplest to understand. You pick a team and if that team wins, you win. But sometimes a team is favored to win or lose by so many points that the ML is not a worthwhile bet and that’s where the spread comes into play. So, when John told me he was betting “South Carolina women’s spread by -35.5” what he was telling me was that he expected a rout. A 36-point rout to be exact.  I marveled at his confidence. “Thirty-six points?” I asked incredulously.  “The girls are different, man. They’re mean. They don’t stop. They’ll keep grinding and win by 40. Watch.” I didn’t lay the bet but I took a seat near him that allowed me to monitor the South Carolina game. Sure enough, the Gamecocks fired on all cylinders and they didn’t let up either. They beat Presbyterian by more than 50 points. John was right. After that day, John always looked for me when I came barreling through the door. I learned that he had been a baseball coach at a high school in Santa Fe for a couple decades and, nearing the end of his career, guided the best prospect he ever coached to a full scholarship at the University of Oklahoma. “The kid washed out,” he told me in a disappointed growl. And so it was that John had become an addict. First through love, and then through pain. And didn’t I know that feeling myself? Isn’t that why I was there? The extra point I missed against Hermitage. The team I quit on. I could tell you of all my big wins (and bigger losses), but that’s never what it was about. It was about glory days. Gone. Out there somewhere, floating in the time and space that turns forever.  The morning after Pete died, my editor sent me a thread about the late Reds’ gambling career. A young man, not unlike myself, hit Harrah’s sportsbook far too early one morning and noticed a sunken figure in the corner. After a couple hours of betting thoroughbreds and harness racing to themselves, the two men struck up the kind of bizarre friendship I’ve come to know too well—awkward, brief, and all-knowing. Brothers from another dimension.  The man in the corner was, of course, Pete Rose. “DO NOT say anything to him or ask him for anything. He hates that,” instructed the bookie when Mr. Prewitt asked if his bleary eyes were correct. It must’ve been tough for Rose. A pariah to the game he loved but an anti-hero for the rest of us. “When I was a little kid, we used to see him at the old Latonia,” read one comment. “Met him myself at Mandalay Bay” another. Rose was not the first, nor will he be the last, man of baseball (or any other sport) to bet on games. Recently, Major League Baseball has done everything in its power to sweep up a major gambling scandal involving Los Angeles Dodgers superstar Shohei Ohtani’s interpreter Ippei Mizuhara. Mizuhara pleaded guilty to stealing nearly $17 million from Ohtani to cover bad bets. Ohtani, whose English is still poor, said he was “shocked” to learn of the situation, but commentators have questioned how Ohtani couldn’t have known about the infractions.  “Mizuhara has a gambling issue,” explained Tom Ellsworth. “He’s got a friendship that truly developed with Ohtani. Mizuhara said: ‘I asked him if he’d pay off my marker, several million dollars.’ And so apparently, over the course of several weeks, $500,000 at a time, which was the max for a wire transfer, went from Ohtani’s account to a bookmaker… The problem I have with Ohtani’s story—it was multiple transfers over three weeks. Wouldn’t you notice?” Ohtani is currently at the end of “a season for the ages” according to MLB’s own article published Monday profiling his unbelievable 2024 performance. Whether Ohtani gambled or not (and there’s no evidence he did) is sort of irrelevant. Given Rose’s history, Ohtani shouldn’t have been anywhere near someone that was known to have a gambling issue.  That amount of gambling occurring so close to one of the sport’s top players is unnerving. Yet the media refused to dig into it. Turn on Sportscenter tonight and you won’t find investigative journalists beating down the Ohtani mansion; you’ll find highlights of the Japanese-born stud running the bases and batting for the cycle as the year climaxes in October.  With ESPN advertising its own gambling app in between innings, there’s simply too much money and prestige at stake to rip up the floorboards and reveal the underbelly of our games. The rot has become so corrosive that Baltimore Ravens QB Lamar Jackson addressed the millions of points-obsessed fantasy bettors complaining after a Ravens win in which Jackson barely threw the ball. “This is a ‘TEAM’ sport,” Jackson wrote on ?. “I’m not out here satisfied when I threw for 300yds but took a L. If I throw for 50 yds and we WIN, that’s wtf matters. Yall stop commenting on our socials about the yds yall fan duel or parlays ain’t hit.” It’s never been clearer—gambling is destroying bank accounts and the games we love. And it’s changing the way we view athletes. In the bygone era, casinos were physically isolated and served (mostly) as weekend escapes for thrill seekers. Now, the casino is in the pocket of most Americans except those, ironically, who live in states with large Indian populations that still thrive on brick-and-mortar locations. Games run around the clock for millions of Americans who can bet on an incredible array of sporting events—odds for cricket, table tennis, jai alai, and even chess are only a swipe away. Nothing could be worse for an addict—and we’re minting them daily, by the tens of thousands.  Pete Rose wasn’t perfect. Mizuhara’s not perfect. I’m not perfect. The millions of Americans out there betting every night aren’t perfect. It’s a struggle everyday. For Pete. For Mizuhara. For me. For all of us. Depriving the Hall of one of the great players and personalities to grace the baseball diamond fails to tell the whole story. Of baseball. Of America. Of our people. Rose’s induction should serve as both a reminder and a warning. If there ever was a time to make it so, it is today. Pete to Canton. Send it. The post Put Pete Rose in the Hall of Fame appeared first on The American Conservative.

“She says I am real and you are not.” The post ‘Mary’: The Alex G song that carved a crevice into Remi Wolf’s heart first appeared on Far Out Magazine.

from World Alternative Media: TRUTH LIVES on at https://sgtreport.tv/

by Stefan Stanford, All News Pipeline: CBS News legal contributor Rebecca Roiphe said on Wednesday that arguing special counsel Jack Smith’s evidence brief breaches former President Donald Trump’s right to a fair trial is not “far-fetched” due to the documents’ level of detail. During an appearance on CBS News, the former Manhattan prosecutor discussed the “unusual” level […]