NEW COLUMN: #Nazism, at about 25 million dead, turned out to be distinctly less murderous than #communism, whose grand total of victims, estimated at between 85-100 million murdered, is the most colossal case of political carnage in history." #BLM https://t.co/OgFOX74hnp
— ILANA Mercer (@IlanaMercer) July 31, 2020
Looking for a boy with:— Kendra Sunderland 🖤🏳️🌈 (@KSLibraryGirl) July 31, 2020
1. 0 hoes
2. A car
3. Over 5’9
4. Communication skills
5. Shows emotion
Comment below how many outta 5 u have 👇🏼 pic.twitter.com/JcsHgcEENE
More than 100 agencies back out of DNC security agreements. Well, well, well, I guess that’s what happens when your entire party has been in the business of demonizing law enforcement for political gain and social media points! pic.twitter.com/4rj3vKS9Bj
— Tomi Lahren (@TomiLahren) July 31, 2020
Lincoln Project Gets Personal In New Ad, Mocking ‘Impotus Americanus’ Trump’s Weight and ‘Ruddy Orange' Color https://t.co/1nBvF2SALd via @mediaite— Sarah Rumpf (@rumpfshaker) July 31, 2020
This is the most merciless @ProjectLincoln ad yet.— Jesse Damiani (@JesseDamiani) July 31, 2020
I would not want to work in the White House today.#ImpotusAmericanus https://t.co/oJHMGSkzxQ
I only got half way through this before clicking it off. It might be funnier to fans of David Attenborough nature programs, but to me the reliance on a English-accented supercilious male voice was just embarrassingly out of touch with present-day America...
Essential Arts: A city's lynching tree logo and 'horrific' vigilante history https://t.co/YH050PNrNw
— LAT Entertainment (@latimesent) August 1, 2020
The tension between safety and faith has coalesced in the suburbs of Southern California’s so-called “Bible Belt.” @stephaniealai https://t.co/WNnb8ssfrJ
— Hector Becerra (@hbecerraLATimes) August 1, 2020
Jennifer Trujillo made a 30-minute trip from her home in San Diego County to the country roads of Wildomar in Riverside County for the first time in weeks.RTWT.
For the last year, the Pala resident had made the trek up every Sunday to attend the service at Bundy Canyon Christian Church, a complex of colorful old-timey buildings along a rural road.
The coronavirus outbreak had sidelined Trujillo, 37, from her trips to church, leaving her to reading the Bible and practicing her faith at home. She knew about the worries of church services leading to outbreaks of COVID-19. That health officials criticized such gatherings as posing a public health risk to parishioners and others they may come in contact with.
But Trujillo would not ignore the call of her pastor to return.
“I feel safe around this community,” Trujillo said. “The word that the pastor gives forth is amazing and its better in person. I just wanted to go back.”
And so she did on a mid-July Sunday to an all-too-familiar scene of parishioners packing the pews. She was instructed not to sit next to anyone outside of her immediate household members.
It was a vain attempt at social distancing.
After scouring for a seat, her 9-year-old daughter Morgan and Trujillo settled for a spot near the center of the pews. Like others, they were squeezed in closer than six feet from other people. A fan conjured up a light breeze. Three vocalists and a drummer performed on stage as dozens of people sang along.
Churches across the state have been whipsawed by state closure and reopening orders, as church events have been tied to coronavirus outbreaks. In May, infections tied to singing in a church service in Redwood Valley and two more outbreaks from Mother’s Day church services in Mendocino and Butte counties drew concern from public health officials. Cases linked to singing during church services have drawn the ire of scientists and even some church leaders.
till, Bundy Canyon kept its usual choral arrangement as the congregation swayed their arms like concertgoers to the singing.
When the services in this church along Bundy Canyon Road began, congregants greeted one another with hugs. Few wore masks.
“I will give power to my two witnesses ... these men have power to shut off the sky so that it will not rain during the time that they are prophesying and they have the power to turn water to blood and to strike the earth with every type of plague,” Randy Eichert intoned from the pulpit as he read from Revelations.
But whatever final judgment the junior minister preached about — the pandemic seemed, at the moment, far from a growing concern.
The tension between safety and faith has coalesced in the suburbs of Southern California. In parts of California’s so-called Bible Belt, the controversy over rising cases of infection and deaths related to the coronavirus has not stopped residents from packing in-person services.
It’s what his flock wants, Bundy Canyon Christian Church Pastor Michael Khan said.
“They didn’t like being apart at all,” Khan said. “We have trust in God that nothing will happen. Since the start of the pandemic, not one of our members got sick or lost their job. The church will always be victorious.”
It is an altogether not surprising development in this part of Southern California. In May, Riverside County was quick to rescind stay-at-home orders and was among the largest proponents for reopening services...
BREAKING: MLB commissioner Rob Manfred told MLBPA executive director Tony Clark on Friday that if the sport doesn’t do a better job of managing the coronavirus, it could shut down for the season, sources tell ESPN.— Jeff Passan (@JeffPassan) July 31, 2020
Story at ESPN: https://t.co/o0OL7JzowN
The conversation between Manfred and Clark was not a threat but a reality check that was relayed to players -- and has spread quickly among them: We -- all of us -- need to clean this up, because if we don't, Major League Baseball in 2020 is going to be over.— Jeff Passan (@JeffPassan) July 31, 2020
😧😧😧 holy crap https://t.co/BWgrRFx9xn
— ErickaAndersen (@ErickaAndersen) July 30, 2020
https://t.co/V36GnWpZdW pic.twitter.com/2O6ozHWB9e
— Minka Kelly (@minkakelly) October 7, 2019
Demi Rose showcases her very peachy posterior in a tiny fishnet thong swimsuit https://t.co/4jhNxjHsay
— Daily Mail Celebrity (@DailyMailCeleb) July 29, 2020
Breaking: Former GOP presidential candidate Herman Cain has died after battling the coronavirus. He was 74. https://t.co/n24bA497Cs— Los Angeles Times (@latimes) July 30, 2020
Joe Kelly suspended 8 games by MLB, Dave Roberts suspended 1 game.
— Bill Shaikin (@BillShaikin) July 29, 2020
Contact-tracing programs have presented many challenges around the world, including difficulties hiring workers, privacy issues and faulty technology.
— The New York Times (@nytimes) July 29, 2020
New York City’s seems to have been especially plagued by problems. https://t.co/qrTEjl89YY
It was only a few weeks into the rollout of New York City’s much-heralded contact-tracing program, a vital initiative in the effort to contain the coronavirus and to reopen the local economy. But in private messaging channels, the newly hired contact tracers were already expressing growing misgivings about their work.It's bad.
One said the city was “putting out propaganda” about the program’s effectiveness.
Another wrote, “I don’t think this is the type of job we should just ‘wing it,’ and that’s the sense I’ve been getting sometimes.”
A third tracer said, “The lack of communication and organization is crazy.”
The authorities around the world — especially in East Asia and Western Europe — have rapidly enacted contact-tracing programs, which are used to identify and then isolate groups of people who may be infected with the coronavirus.
Mayor Bill de Blasio has declared that the city’s new Test and Trace Corps, which has hired about 3,000 contact tracers, case monitors and others, will make a difference in curbing the virus now that the outbreak that devastated New York in the spring has waned.
But contact-tracing programs have presented an array of challenges to government officials everywhere, including difficulties hiring many workers, privacy issues and faulty technology, like apps. And New York City’s seems to have been especially plagued by problems.
The de Blasio administration acknowledged that the program, which began on June 1, had gotten off to a troubled start, but said that improvements had been made.
“All signs indicate that the program has been effective in helping the city avoid the resurgence we’re seeing in other states,” Avery Cohen, a spokeswoman for the mayor, said.
Still, some contact tracers described the program’s first six weeks as poorly run and disorganized, leaving them frustrated and fearful that their work would not have much of an impact.
They spoke of a confusing training regimen and priorities, and of newly hired supervisors who were unable to provide guidance. They said computer problems had sometimes caused patient records to disappear. And they said their performances were being tracked by call-center-style “adherence scores” that monitor the length of coffee breaks but did not account for how well tracers were building trust with clients.
Some also bristled at what they described as crackdowns on workers talking to one another.
The New York Times developed a portrait of the program through interviews with several current and former workers, as well as through an examination of internal documents. Further information was obtained from screenshots of Slack messaging channels used by tracers, which featured numerous conversations about workplace conditions.
“It reminds me of an Amazon warehouse or something, where we are judged more on call volume or case volume than the quality of conversations,” one newly hired contact tracer, a public health graduate student, said in an interview.
“To me, it seems like they hired all of us just to say we have 3,000 contact tracers so we can start opening up again, and they don’t really care about the program metrics or whether it’s a successful program,” she said.
Most of the current workers interviewed for this article spoke only on the condition of anonymity, saying that they feared losing their jobs if they spoke out publicly.
The complaints mounted so quickly that on July 9, Dr. Neil Vora, one of the leaders of the program, apologized during a virtual town-hall-style meeting with hundreds of workers...
@jorgecastillo gives perfectly executed blow by blow of the night Joe Kelly threw down for the Dodgers https://t.co/HmNfk5XgEC— Bill Plaschke (@BillPlaschke) July 29, 2020
HOUSTON — The first clue underscoring the animosity between the Dodgers and the Houston Astros didn’t surface until the bottom of the sixth inning Tuesday night.Keep reading.
The Dodgers were up three runs en route to a 5-2 victory at Minute Maid Park. The bases were empty. Alex Bregman had worked a 3-and-0 count against Dodgers right-hander Joe Kelly. The scene didn’t scream tension. But Kelly abruptly reminded the Astros of his club’s feelings with a 96-mph fastball behind Bregman’s head. Bregman calmly looked away, bent over to remove his ankle guard, and took his base without a word. Kelly then yawned.
The next close call wasn’t disregarded. Three batters later, with runners on first and second and two outs, Kelly hurled an 87-mph curveball that narrowly missed Carlos Correa’s head. The ball bounced away and the runners advanced. It was ruled a wild pitch. Correa stared at Kelly.
The at-bat ended with Correa swinging through a curveball for strike three. He and Kelly exchanged words as Kelly walked off the field. Kelly stuck his tongue out at Correa. He mocked him with a pout. He sprinkled obscenities around the faces...
3-0 pitch from Joe Kelly ends up going behind Alex Bregman. pic.twitter.com/q6P8CD5oqj
— FOX Sports: MLB (@MLBONFOX) July 29, 2020
Joe Kelly strikes out Carlos Correa. Pleasantries are exchanged ... then we get our first socially-distanced bench clearing altercation of the season.pic.twitter.com/dmQElWppqd
— SI MLB (@si_mlb) July 29, 2020
The Dodgers and Astros cleared the benches after Joe Kelly struck out and exchanged words with Carlos Correa. pic.twitter.com/Z2l2A1sMG6
— SportsCenter (@SportsCenter) July 29, 2020
Whole package pic.twitter.com/h9PzVcYj88
— TRY NOT TO GET A BONER (@tryn0t2cum) July 29, 2020
Think Biden has the election locked up? Travel with my friend @JAEnda1 to Northeast Pennsylvania https://t.co/ikJiyVrmo0
— Patricia Sullivan (@psullivan1) July 29, 2020
In Pennsylvania, Joe Biden is hoping to peel off just enough white, working-class voters in crucial counties to edge out the president. But the women here—waitresses, churchgoers, bingo players, lifelong Democrats—show no signs of budging, pandemic be damned. “I am 110% Trump,” says one. “I love him.”Still more.
It was a Thursday night in January, before the coronavirus shut everything down, meaning it was time for bingo at St. Andrew Parish in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. Three dozen regulars—almost all of them women—filed into the church basement. Some grabbed “cuts” of pizza from the front of the room; a few lingered in the cold for one last smoke. As the clock approached 6:00, they settled into metal folding chairs, spread out their game sheets, and focused on the numbers.
The entire political world, in turn, has been focused on these women and the numbers—and potential power—they represent. The bingo players are part of the white working class, a prized group that helped elect Donald Trump in 2016. Many are Democrats who supported Barack Obama in one or both of his races and had never pulled the GOP lever before. To Republicans they represent the path to the president’s reelection. To Democrats they personify opportunity, a chance to siphon off just enough Trump votes in swing states to remove him from office. “I don’t need to win them,” said Democratic pollster Jill Normington. “I need to lose by less.”
Ever since Trump pulled off upset victories in the former Democratic strongholds of Michigan, Wisconsin, and Pennsylvania, both parties have viewed white women without college degrees as pivotal 2020 voters. White, working-class women and men are the nation’s largest bloc of voters, especially here in the Rust Belt, and women are considered more likely to reject Trump this time around. Polls bear this out, showing that the men in this group remain overwhelmingly behind the president, while many of the women are having second thoughts. Democrats hope that just as suburban women outside cities like Philadelphia, about two hours south of Wilkes-Barre, turned on Republicans in 2018, white, working-class women will follow suit this year.
But the bingo players at St. Andrew and their counterparts in their key region of Pennsylvania may be unexpectedly resistant. In this historically Democratic bastion, where coal once ruled and black-and-white photos of JFK still adorn walls, women who voted for Trump show few signs of wavering. They applaud his brusque demeanor, or they don’t. They support his right-wing policies, or they don’t. It doesn’t matter. They think Democrats have persecuted him without justification, believe he’s doing everything possible to combat COVID-19, and generally support his “law-and-order” response to what are likely the most pervasive protests in U.S. history. They have faith that he has the business acumen to reinvigorate the economy. Mainly, they have faith in him.
They support Trump because they like him. Actually, the word many of them use is “love.”
The reason is simple: He speaks to them, not down to them, eschewing words like “eschew.” While his life experience as a New York playboy-celebrity rich kid is wholly different from their own, they feel he’s one of them. “I am 110% Trump. I love him,” Barbara Bono said as she set up her bingo cards. “I love the way he talks. I understand him more than any other president. This whole place is Trump,” she said, sweeping her arm across the room as women around her nodded.
Bono, a 63-year-old retired Lord & Taylor warehouse worker, is precisely the kind of voter Joe Biden’s campaign hopes to win over: She’s a registered Democrat and former union member who never voted Republican before casting a ballot for Trump. She is Catholic, like so many in these parts, but supports abortion rights. She thought Bill Clinton was a “wonderful” president and didn’t care for George W. Bush. She voted for Obama in 2008, but sat out the election of 2012 because, she said, his Affordable Care Act drove up her health insurance costs. Still, she didn’t support Obama’s GOP opponent, Mitt Romney, another rich guy who, it must be noted, speaks nothing like her.
“I love the way he talks! Crazy Nancy!” Bono said, echoing the president’s nickname for House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, the highest-ranking elected woman officeholder in the history of the United States. “I love it. He is up early in the morning...He’s always talking to the American people. He’s all about our country.
“Pelooooski,” she continued, drawing laughs from the other bingo players. Then, in the spirit of Trump: “I can’t wait for her teeth to fall out!”
Bono is like a lot of the women I met during visits to Luzerne and Lackawanna Counties in northeastern Pennsylvania, called “NEPA” by locals, in late 2019 and early 2020. She has lived in Wilkes-Barre, the county seat of Luzerne, her entire life, though she now spends part of her winters in Valdosta, Georgia. She is a high school graduate, one of the white women without college degrees whose support Trump can’t afford to lose.
During conversations spanning seven months, the women I spoke to made plain that there is little, if anything, that would make them abandon Trump. Not the emergence of Biden, who’s fond of invoking his early childhood in nearby Scranton. Not a quarantine that has cost some of them their wages. Not the ensuing economic fallout. And certainly not the Trump detractors who say he has mishandled life-and-death issues that have consumed the nation: the coronavirus, the police killing of George Floyd, and the systemic racism it brought to the fore.
“A lot of people hate him, but I don’t get it,” said Florence “Flo” Eldredge, a waitress who missed months of work because of the pandemic. “I think he’s doing the best he can under the circumstances.”
Added her next-door neighbor Linda Stetzar: “I would give him a crown.”
It’s hard for an outsider to distinguish between Luzerne and Lackawanna Counties, which share a rolling landscape in the Appalachian Mountains and in the valleys along the Susquehanna River. Many of their towns flow smoothly into one another, their Americana displayed in street banners that celebrate their war heroes. But locals know the difference between Pittston and West Pittston, Old Forge and Forty Fort. They will tell you that the Irish settled this town, the Italians that town, the Poles moved here and the Germans there. They say it while acknowledging that influxes of immigrants weren’t always made to feel welcome. Their ancestors came from Europe to mine anthracite coal, which they did for generations until the mines closed in the middle of the last century. All these years later, they wear their heritage proudly.
Families remain close. I came across more than one pair of sisters, mothers and daughters, aunts and nieces dining or working or playing bingo together. Almost all were descendants of those early miners. But in recent years, after the mines closed and lace factories came and went, more and more residents have departed. Young people who attend college leave most frequently, unable to find white-collar jobs close to home. Those who stay are mostly white and older. They are often more conservative than their children. They still attend the churches, predominantly Catholic, that their forebears built. They are courteous and unhurried, the kind of people who call strangers like me “hon.” They work for state or local government or health care providers or a local university or, increasingly, one of the numerous warehouses and call centers that have popped up along the tangle of highways that crisscross here. They don’t expect something for nothing.
“There’s that dignity piece,” Scranton mayor Paige Cognetti told me. “If mom and dad worked in coal and lace, they worked their asses off. People don’t want programs or help. They want to earn it.”
Before the novel coronavirus, the economies in these two counties had improved considerably. Though they weren’t as strong as elsewhere in the state—the median income was lower, the unemployment rate higher—people didn’t despair. In fact, in Donald Trump, a lot of them saw hope.
Trump beat Hillary Clinton by a total of just 77,744 votes in Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, and Michigan, states once considered Democrats’ “blue wall.” More than half of that vote margin—44,292—came from Pennsylvania. And more than one third came from Luzerne County, a place that hadn’t voted Republican since George H.W. Bush in 1988 and that has voted for the presidential candidate who carried Pennsylvania since 1932. Trump carried Luzerne by 26,237 votes and had the biggest margin of victory there—19 points—since Richard Nixon in 1972. Next door, in Lackawanna County, Clinton won by a scant 3,599 votes even though she had personal ties to the area, having spent her childhood summers at a family cottage on Lake Winola, a short drive from her father’s hometown and final resting place, Scranton. Four years earlier Obama beat Romney there by 26,579 votes.
Theories abound as to why Trump did so well, particularly in Luzerne, which Pennsylvania pollster G. Terry Madonna told me was “a place where in my lifetime I never thought a Republican would win.” Madonna, director of the Franklin & Marshall College Poll, said Trump stepped into a void created by Democrats, who essentially abandoned cultural conservatives. “As the Democrats became an urban-based party, they moved away from the working-class roots that had been a part of their constituency,” he said...
It Aint Over Til Its Over
Lenny Kravitz
11:33am
Danger Zone
Kenny Loggins
11:30am
Obsession
ANIMOTION
11:20am
All Apologies
NIRVANA
11:16am
I Ran (So Far Away)
A Flock OF Seagulls
11:12am
Sweet Home Alabama
Lynyrd Skynyrd
11:07am
Get Lucky
Daft Punk Feat. Pharrell Williams
11:03am
No One Like You
Scorpions
11:00am
Hungry Like The Wolf
Duran Duran
10:50am
Self Esteem
OFFSPRING
10:45am
Hey Hey What Can I Do
Led Zeppelin
10:41am
Dont Stand So Close To Me
Police
10:38am
Just A Girl
NO Doubt
10:34am
Walk This Way
Run D.M.C./Aerosmith
10:31am
Words
Missing Persons
10:20am
Unforgiven
Metallica
10:14am
