Finally — a politician who knows something about the car business.

I'm talking about Sen. Bernie Moreno, an Ohio Republican who spent decades building a car dealership empire. That experience has led him to introduce legislation that would repeal emissions rules and give tax breaks to car manufacturers.

'Thanks to liberal bureaucrats who want to mandate what cars Americans can drive, states like mine are riddled with car lots filled with expensive EVs people simply don’t want.'

Moreno, along with a few other GOP senators, introduced bill S.711 — named the Transportation Freedom Act — to the floor on February 25, 2025.

CAFE break

This bill would repeal the multi-pollutant emissions standards for light-duty and medium-duty vehicles, repeal the next phase of heavy-duty vehicle greenhouse gas emissions standards; and repeal the Corporate Average Fuel Economy rules.

It would also eliminate vehicle emissions waivers and establish new passenger automobile standards.

This a glimmer of hope for the U.S. auto industry, which has been struggling to thrive in the face of inconsistent regulations, massive foreign competition, and misguided federal policies that hurt autoworkers, automakers, and consumers.

The Transportation Freedom Act seeks to make cars more affordable by eliminating government mandates that have caused vehicle prices to surge.

'The only winner is China'

In introducing the bill, Moreno said: “Thanks to liberal bureaucrats who want to mandate what cars Americans can drive, states like mine are riddled with car lots filled with expensive EVs people simply don’t want and dormant factories that once employed millions of American workers. The only winner is China.”

Moreno says his bill would lower vehicle prices by “slashing onerous mandates that have made cars unaffordable to everyday Americans, like the EPA ‘tailpipe rule’ and California’s zero-emission vehicle mandate.”

The bill would revoke the California rule to ensure that "all Americans — not just California politicians — have a say in our country’s transportation future."

He says it would also end “arbitrary” CAFE fuel economy standards that require manufacturers to build vehicles "consumers simply do not want," and it provides a six-month window for their replacement with tough but achievable standards.

Higher wages

It would also give carmakers a 200% tax deduction for wages paid to U.S. autoworkers, up to $150,000 per worker, and block companies from using the money they save for stock buybacks.

Deductions would be limited to producers of vehicles with at least 75% U.S. content and those that did not transfer production outside the United States in the past taxable year. To get the deduction, carmakers would also have to offer health insurance, profit-sharing plans, and retiree benefits to workers and remain neutral in labor organizing campaigns.

The bill is cosponsored by three other freshman Republican senators: Indiana’s Jim Banks, Montana’s Tim Sheehy, and West Virginia’s Jim Justice. It is backed by General Motors, Stellantis, Toyota, the National Automobile Dealers Association, the Alliance for Automotive Innovation, and American Trucking Associations.

'A commonsense approach'

His bill is likely to face opposition from environmental organizations that said the fuel efficiency and emissions standards set during the Biden administration would fight climate change and protect public health.

A statement from Toyota executive Mark Templin called Moreno’s bill a "commonsense approach that will provide regulatory predictability" and allow the auto industry to invest in emission-reduction technology while providing affordable choices for consumers.

"The auto industry has been whipsawed by shifting emission regulations for decades. These swings have hurt auto companies, auto dealers, and autoworkers, ultimately driving up the cost of automobiles in America."

A statement from Mark Stanton, NADA trade group president and CEO, said his group strongly supports Moreno’s proposed national fuel economy standard as something "achievable, affordable, and maintains consumer vehicle choice."

'May or may not be possessed': Inside the thriving online market for 'haunted' dolls

Dolls are like clowns — they can go from cute to creepy real quick. And for the creepiest of them all, fame and fortune could await.

For every Annabelle or Chucky, however, there are thousands of dolls still languishing in obscurity.

'I'm not responsible for any hospital visits, death, or nightmares, or any other unfortunate things that may occur,' the seller warns.

They may not have the brand recognition, but when it comes to the spirit realm, they're the real deal. At least, that's what the people selling them say.

Real haunted doll active!

"REAL HAUNTED DOLL ACTIVE! Possessed Malevolent Evil Demonic Spirit Of A Demon," is how eBay seller hauntedvoodoogirl describes a baby doll she's selling. With its clean pink dress and bright blue eyes, the doll doesn't exactly look evil — although the Ouija board behind her does add a hint of spookiness.

A word of caution follows: “Please note, by buying this doll, you are inviting a spirit to come into your home.”

Welcome to the seldom-traveled market of haunted dolls, dummies, and figurines, selling for anywhere from hundreds to thousands of dollars on auction websites.

Whether you believe in the supernatural or not, it's clear these dolls have become a lucrative storytelling opportunity for some budding entrepreneurs.

On eBay, there is a plethora of would-be haunted items selling for between $400 and $8,000, with plenty of buyers vying to take them home.

Hauntedvoodoogirl has 202 reviews, with a 100% positive review rating and over 650 sales. Many of these are sales of “haunted” dolls from $100 to $450 — just like the "possessed malevolent evil" baby doll she's currently trying to move.

Of course, these listings often come with a disclaimer: “It may take months with you to see any activity with a doll when it moves from one location to another, please give it time, very rarely will you see activity immediately, allow the doll time to feel comfortable in your home.”

Serious stories for serious money

As you move into the higher end of the possessed doll market, the backstories get more complex — yes, the backstories.

An allegedly possessed mannequin selling for $400 comes from a “well-known psychic medium” who claims to have been “practicing Wicca for 55 years.”

Skeptical? Does finding out that she moved next to a cemetery and purchased a hearse to feel closer to the “spirits" change your mind? What about the guarantee that every doll receives a midnight session that involves communication through meditation, an Ouija board, and even a pendulum, for some reason?

Just know that the principle of "buyer beware" applies: “I'm not responsible for any hospital visits, death, or nightmares, or any other unfortunate things that may occur,” the seller warns.

Got $450 to spend? Perhaps you'd like a life-sized “poltergeist”-haunted vessel. Once you hit this price point, salesmanship goes from jumbled descriptions to full-fledged fan fiction.

“Lillian was only 5 years old when her life was cruelly stolen. ... Her parents were physically abusive. ... Her mother forced her to light cigarettes on the hot stove, often causing painful burns on her small hands.”

Spooky self-help

Not all dolls have such grim backgrounds. Emma, for example, houses the spirit of a girl born in Michigan (just like the seller!). Emma stumbled upon a book about witchcraft in the library as a young girl, and her learning helped her find self-confidence and respect.

And now she's ready to pass these on to you. “Emma is going to help you find your strength, stick up for yourself, and to never tolerate disrespect,” the listing promises — all for a small fee of $600.

It's in the four-figure range that the sales pitches become truly baroque.

Whether it is a $3,000 “authentic demonic doll” or a $5,000 “paranormal” doll encased in a lantern, there’s no shortage of tales to spin.

That “cursed vessel” not only caused alleged financial ruin but car accidents and even six apartment floods. The incidents caused the owner to put the doll in a cage and perform a “protection spell.”

Now, the seller just wants to recoup some money from a generous buyer and allegedly get his or her life back together.

“If you’re crazy enough to pay what I am asking for this doll, then maybe you’ll be able to handle what it brings and the financial ruin it will bring you,” the seller writes.

For experienced owners only

A pair of classic possessed ventriloquist dolls can be yours for just $8,000. Then again, if you're forking over that much, maybe you'd prefer the reliability of an “active” porcelain doll.

For “experienced” owners of paranormal items only, this doll comes complete with audible footsteps and electromagnetic frequencies.

Here, as in all of these listings, there are no guarantees: Paranormal events could take weeks or even months to happen or may never happen at all. Some listings insist on no refunds, while others end their novellas more honestly, noting that the dolls are for entertainment purposes only.

You know, like blowing all your money in Vegas.

Upselling exorcism

The paranormal doll experience stretches beyond eBay, but the long-standing website is indeed where it has its strongest base. Thousand-word explainers dominate the market there and back up the experience with expensive product.

On other sites, like Facebook Marketplace, the tone is a little less serious. Yes, buyers will still find the “creepy old lady doll” they are looking for, but descriptions tend not to mince words.

“May or may not be possessed. There is no documented evidence of demonic activity, but the dog won't go in the same room with her."

And she can be yours for $45.

A pair of dolls that likely would be described on eBay as paranormal fixtures of a forgotten time merit nothing more than a laconic upsell on Facebook: “An exorcism can be performed for $50."

Still, even with a possessed doll that features its own custom “ghost bike,” Facebook consumers are hard-pressed to find anything that will break the bank.

Which raises the question: Just who's buying all these expensive eBay dolls — and why?

Shady business?

“I don't know what to say, to be honest,” collector Efron Monsanto told Align. “As a collector, I find the idea odd, but most items in the space for our type of hobbies are.”

Monsanto routinely goes far and wide seeking out rare and vintage oddities, but even he found the high prices for the dolls baffling.

“For sellers trying to profit off these dolls, I believe they could be taking advantage of the mentally ill and their allies.”

Few of these sellers seem to specialize in the haunted doll trade. Many of the dolls for sale appear to be one-off cash-grabs, sold alongside a catalogue of Pokemon cards, toys, or stuffed animals.

Still, some sellers do focus on a quality product, as evidenced by rave customer reviews.

“I keep coming back to the Seller! Time and time again!” said a buyer of yet another allegedly possessed doll.

Another buyer said her haunted clown has been “very active with me responding when I ask her to light up the catball and poltergeist activity!”

A different customer, who paid $100 for a haunted jewelry box, admitted experiencing no paranormal activity but was still pleased with the purchase.

“I Haven't Experienced ANYTHING Yet! But, I WILL Say This Box IS LOVELY!!!” the customer wrote.

Even as the prices go up, customers are still happy with their lack of activity, displaying a genuine interest in the authenticity of their purchase, with little expectations.

Harmless fun?

Chrissy Clark, a journalist who specializes in underreported stories, isn't so sure.

“Who is buying demonic dolls that someone is trying to off-load?" she asked.

“If these dolls are authentic, then there is an obvious spirit of greed that leads people to sell the items instead of destroy them.”

Does anybody remember how to behave in public?

In 1982, a fire broke out in the apartment building next to ours in Orange County, California.

I was 8 years old and home alone after school, a latchkey kid. The smoke alarms went off. I recalled the training about what to do in a fire from our parents and the public service announcements that used to run on television. In this case, the right thing to do was to leave quickly and go up the street to my grandmother’s house.

Fellow adults, we have to be adults again. Even if the other grown-ups around us don’t like it, we of good will have to work to reinstill polite, considerate, and safe public behavior.

As I was walking to the front door, I grabbed my belt, tucked my Superman T-shirt into my jeans, and fastened the belt.

It was an automatic action. My brother and sister and I were not to leave the house with dirty faces, uncombed hair, or disheveled clothing. It didn’t cost me any time, as the belt was right there; I would have run faster if the flames had been licking my heels.

I remember the pride I felt when Grandma called my mother to tell her I was OK. “By God, he remembered to put his belt on before he left the house; he’s such a good boy,” she said.

The bare minimum

Going out in public neat and presentable was not something you thought about; it was just a way that you lived. Look around you now at the grocery store, at Applebee’s, on a downtown sidewalk. People from age 6 to 60 are walking around with snarled hair, fat rolls hanging down underneath too-small shirts, and dirty clothes. Your nose will tell you that the percentage of Americans who shower daily is substantially lower than it was 43 years ago.

We have a manners crisis. The crisis is that we have abandoned manners, rules, and common standards that make living in society bearable and, once in a while, pleasant.

At 50 years old, I find myself shocked to discover that I’m not considered a “grown-up” whom children or teenagers need to treat with minimal respect. Adults can no longer correct misbehaving children in public without risking getting punched by their enraged parents.

Kids in adult bodies

There are very few adults left. There are plenty of people in adult bodies, but so many except the most elderly of the old walk around like spoiled children, ignorant of everyone around them and devoid of even the smallest courtesy to fellow citizens. The adults won’t let you correct their kids because they themselves have never corrected them. The bad example grown people set — including a majority of modern parents — for the young has destroyed civilized behavior.

We are a nation of narcissists. “I’m gonna get mine no matter what it does to you” is our motto. It’s reflected in nearly every advertisement for the past 15 years. Think of the phrases you hear most often in pitches for products: “No boundaries,” “tear down barriers,” “nothing is more important than YOU.” Those are verbatim (and common) phrases from commercials that will be familiar to many.

Fellow adults, we have to be adults again. Even if the other grown-ups around us don’t like it, we of good will have to work to reinstill polite, considerate, and safe public behavior.

I do not have children of my own, but in middle age, I have paternal urges. I want my nieces and nephews to know how to act like ladies and gentlemen. I want the schoolkids in my town to respect themselves, their peers, and the adults who care for and educate them. Not “just because.” I want this because our etiquette-free Thunderdome has made the U.S. a pretty miserable place to be if you ever have to conduct business in public.

We are not happy people. You see it on the faces of the young and the old. It doesn’t have to be this way.

My friends from the South tell me that manners and civility are still very much alive where they live, and I’m glad to hear that. But having lived up North and in Democrat/blue areas most of my life, I can tell you that the slovenly rudeness is appalling. And worse, few if any adults seem to even notice it — except those of us who still practice mannerly ways while being called “old-fashioned” and mocked.

The wisdom of Miss Manners

Etiquette expert Judith Martin is known to older readers as Miss Manners. For decades she wrote a syndicated column on etiquette, combining practical advice with the kind of arch and hilarious prose you find only once in a generation. When I went off to a snooty, expensive liberal arts college in my early 20s, my older friend got me a copy of several of Martin’s books.

Being young and callow myself, I expected to hate them. Instead, I realized the lady knew what she was talking about. Everything she advised made sense and rang close to the lessons I remembered learning as a child but hadn’t fully understood.

Martin was at pains to correct misperceptions about etiquette. It is not mainly about when to use a fish fork at a swanky dinner party (with the fish course — duh); it’s not an affectation of the idle rich from a Victorian novel of manners.

Nay, etiquette is the domain of the shared and universal folkways and manners that make personal, social, and business life predictable and bearable. It sets out social rules and makes available social punishments for those who take advantage.

Most importantly, she noted that etiquette is not about “making everyone feel comfortable.” Here’s a bit of advice she gave to a reader who was tired of having people she met ask her about her baby’s due date since she wasn’t pregnant.

“People often tell Miss Manners that etiquette is just a matter of making other people feel comfortable,” Martin wrote. “Well, often, yes. But there are times to make people uncomfortable enough that they stop discomforting others. This is one of them.”

Rude awakening

We have all gotten too comfortable with being personally comfortable at the expense of others. If the 1970s were the “me” decade, then we are living in the age of self-love and self-care. Another name for that is narcissism. It is high time for the manners-minded among us to start making the rude majority uncomfortable enough that they stop stepping on our toes literally and figuratively.

Readers, I do not know exactly how we are to do this. It’s a project that needs collective buy-in; it’s a “tragedy of the commons” problem. We’re afraid to appropriately upbraid the sullen and unhelpful clerk because we know that her boss is likely to side with the 17-year-old with a face full of metal and green hair. We’re more likely to be fired as a customer than a snotty, incompetent teenager is likely to lose her job for being rude to patrons.

Some modest proposals

But we must find a way to do it anyway. As a start, here is a short list of mannerly and orderly behavior we all remember from not so long ago that should make a comeback.

We walk on the right side of the sidewalks and store aisles. Not the left and never right up the middle. Civilized people do not stand in the middle of an aisle with a cart ignoring those trying to get past.
We hold doors open for the person behind us. Walking through without even a glance backward while the door slams on the next patron is rude.
Red lights mean “stop,” not “floor the accelerator through oncoming perpendicular traffic.”
The left lane of a highway is for passing, not travel. Civilized people do not go 55 miles per hour in the left lane, matching speed with the other car in the right lane, preventing all other motorists from passing by creating a two-car barrier.
Telephone calls are private, not public. Taking a call at all in public is rude. Holding your phone out like a platter with the speaker function on is actively hostile to everyone around you. Civilized people excuse themselves for important calls and take them around a corner. There was a reason telephone booths existed.
No one should ever hear the beeping noises or, God forbid, the TikTok videos playing on your phone. Silence that infernal contraption or put in earbuds.
Children should address adults as Mr., Mrs., Miss, or Ms., not as “Tyler” and “Caitlin.” A compromise would be the Southern way; children address adult friends of the family as “Mister Mike” and “Miss Kate.”
Pedestrians may have the legal right of way, but being in the legal right does not annul the laws of physics. Civilized people do not slowly saunter into oncoming traffic, deliberately refusing to turn their heads to observe cars as if daring them to strike. One day, somebody will, and it won’t be the driver’s fault.
When you place a call to someone, you, the caller, identify yourself first. Have you noticed this modern practice when you get a call? You answer the phone, and some person you’ve never heard of says, “Is this Josh?” Excuse me? Who are you?
Decent people cover their bodies in public. The amount of skin on display, including excess cleavage and buttocks hanging out of “clothes,” is obscene. If your great-grandmother dead in 1960 could be brought back to life, you would forgive her for assuming the top occupation in 21st-century America is prostitution. The only person who can get away with wearing a gownless evening strap is Cher.

Maybe you’ll have some ideas to leave in the comments.

Bad grandfather

It wasa one of the formative experiences of my childhood. My grandfather was a stubborn, combative Midwestern WASP who helped start the Chicago options exchange. He had been a ball turret gunner in WWII, nicknamed “Sharpie" because he was always ready with a quick-witted barb, always a little edgier than his milieu of dedicatedly bland, upstanding citizens from the distant Chicago suburb of Geneva, Illinois.

My parents knew the request would be a point of conflict. In fact, it was a test, probably encouraged by my mother.

His cohort were well-to-do lifelong Democrats, library Anglos, historical society supporters, staunchly moral and naturally drawn to the task of building community and tribal memory, and thus deeply repelled by the slightest whiff of political selfishness.

He was no different. He died years before the 2016 election, but he would have hated Trump, just as my grandmother did, due to his bombast and bad manners.

But he did something once that upset everyone in the family, something that clearly presaged the Trump era.

A Christmas tradition

Every Christmas, my archetypal Boomer artist parents (so archetypal, in fact, that they were a Jewish/Protestant couple not just in academia but theater academia) would linger around waiting for my grandfather to cut them a check. Which he always did, begrudgingly, his “Sharpie” flak ever increasing as he got older.

Despite this family tradition, one year I found myself appealing to my grandfather's largesse on a different holiday: Easter.

I was about to undertake a 30-mile bike ride to raise money for multiple sclerosis; my parents thought I should ask my grandfather to "sponsor" me.

These days, there is a growing consciousness that the money contributed to these sorts of events — e.g. Susan Komen “pinkwashing” — tends to vanish into the void, becoming the currency of patronage farms for self-dealing parasites and other creepy NGO swindle machines. But at the time, everyone, even antisocial leftists, participated in these events with gusto and pride.

So I was induced to approach my grandfather at the right time and ask him, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, for a large donation for my arduous MS ride.

Competitive empathy-signaling

I must have been around 12 or 13 years old, and I didn’t really understand what I was asking for. Why would someone give you money to do a bike ride? And once you got that money, why didn't you keep it, instead of sending it to people you'd never met and never would: an abstract population suffering from an abstract disease? It didn’t make any sense.

My parents knew the request would be a point of conflict. In fact, it was a test, probably encouraged by my mother.

Like many lapsed Jews, she had made a religion of competitive empathy-signaling. Her main rivals were her in-laws — supposedly "good" Christians who nonetheless exhibited moral deficiencies that were glaringly obvious to any member of the perennially oppressed Jewish people.

They shuffled me forward, and I made my pitch.

My grandfather became cross and silent in that atmosphere-disturbing way that only fathers and grandfathers can pull off. The air disappeared from the room.

“No,” he said.

A shocking refusal

It completely shocked me. I had been conditioned to believe that charity bicycle rides were the very definition of goodness. Anyone who would refuse charity, no less charity related to a healthy fitness activity, on behalf of his own grandchild was comically evil. Darth Vader-grade evil. Evil just for the sake of it. The type of person who would gladly torture animals and leave grocery carts willy-nilly in the parking lot. The absolute opposite of a responsible Christian grandfather. How could this be happening?

I choked up with bewilderment and forced out a “why?” with tears dripping down my face.

“Because I don’t believe in that sort of thing,” he responded.

My parents scrabbled around like spooked hyenas, but that was the end of it. There would be no more discussion. My grandfather sipped his bourbon and sat in his chair and read something, probably the New Yorker, and tuned out the awkwardness.

Later we probably searched for Easter eggs in the garden. I still remember the feel and the smell of the tomatoes in that garden, those little orange follicles that stick to your fingertips and, later, when you wash your hands, release their scent of pure summer.

The confidence of conviction

For years afterward, my grandfather's refusal was constantly referred to with great pain, one of those colossal betrayals that haunts families for decades and never gets resolved, even after the offender is dead. I am particularly susceptible to such resentments — I stopped speaking to my maternal grandparents for other betrayals and never went back.

Not with this grandfather. Even back then, I can remember my own pain over his blunt refusal dissolving even as my parents’ festered and grew. There was just something about it, something brave, that I couldn’t help but admire. The totally brazen refusal to play along — the confidence in one’s own convictions even when everyone else believes you’re stone-cold evil, the “against us” in the mind of our collective BPD.

And not just the conviction not to bend, but the open disgust about being asked to bend in the first place. There’s divinity in anti-collectivism — an irrational self-sacrifice just for the sake of it — that I think reaches up toward God.

And, of course, he ended up being entirely correct.

Societal cancer

These nonprofit rackets are in fact societal cancers corroding the fabric of beautiful, historic, human-centric places like Geneva, Illinois. Public-private corruption systems, probably propped up by USAID or the equivalent, feeding off the gentle goodness of the native Midwesterner in order to generate instability, profit, and global grayness for the benefit of definitely not religious Christians.

I remember once walking down the street on a beautiful fall Sunday in Geneva and being shocked by how many healthy, beautiful, shining, hand-holding families were out strolling under the fiery leaves — as if transported back to a time before cars and phones and crime, when everyone was just out and connected and together in the town square.

You could almost see the connection between them in the air. It was so thick as to become a substance, the natural state of what humanity can be when not interfered with.

I haven’t been back in a while, but I can promise you that connectedness is a lot less thick in Geneva today. And there are a lot more charities and a lot more charity rides.

I never got to know my grandfather well, probably in part because he was meant to serve as a Grinch figure. He had four handsome, smart, white suburban sons, but among them, they had only had two grandchildren, my cousin Louise and me.

I couldn’t tell you why that happened, besides to say that it is certainly a very Boomer phenomenon and thus almost certainly related to the sterilizing self-hatred that crept into the white American population around that time, a self-hatred that would go basically unacknowledged until Trump.

Pale blue eyes

He died when I was 15. I remember him crumpled up in the hospital bed, barely able to speak or move, but his eyes were glued on me. Fixed. His pale blue eyes, very pale, almost white, this very prototypical Midwestern WASP sort of eye blue paleness. His eyes always had a deeply piercing quality, like they were looking through you, or more like you were looking through him. And I remember him staring at me and not looking away.

Saying nothing, just staring — like an inanimate bump on a log with two pale blue portals to the afterlife. It became awkward for everyone else because he was staring so hard and unblinkingly, but he didn’t seem to care what anyone thought. I flittered around uncomfortably and ultimately left the room (one of my biggest regrets to this day). But I remember interpreting it as a sign, as a statement: “It’s on you now, Sharpie."

I bought shoes from a man with one leg

I recently bought a pair of loafers from a man with a prosthetic leg.

How do I know this? Good question. I never met him. I never saw him. I bought the shoes on eBay, used. But I am almost certain he has one leg.

I love finding an old, vintage Brooks Brothers sport coat. One that was made before we landed on the moon.

As soon as I took them out of the box I realized there was something off. The left loafer had natural creases on the top of the shoe. You know, the creases that form as you walk and your foot bends. These were used shoes, and this is normal. The right loafer, however, had none of these natural creases. The top of the shoe looked essentially new.

I put them on, and my suspicions were validated only more. The right loafer fit a bit tighter than the left. It felt like it hadn’t been worn. It felt new. You know that feeling, don’t you? Stiff. Tight. It takes a while for shoes to get broken in. The right loafer hadn’t been broken in at all. I also noticed there was less wear on the very back of the right sole.

All of this corroborated my theory. The right loafer was worn on a prosthetic foot, which wouldn’t be bending the same way a fully functioning foot does. The shoe thusly wouldn’t be broken in. Rolling forward on the back of the heel with all of one’s weight, as you do when you walk, wouldn’t be happening, either.

All of this comes together to perfectly explain the asymmetrical state of the used penny loafers I bought on eBay. They were worn by a man with a prosthetic leg.

I put a shoe stretcher in the right loafer for a day or two. It stretched out enough so that it came fairly close to matching the size of the left. After a few weeks of regular wear, the discrepancy between the left and the right was all but gone.

This whole saga is exactly what I love about thrifting and buying used stuff on eBay. It’s not just the great price. The ability to find incredible deals on clothing you wouldn’t normally be able to afford is a wonderful thing, but what I love about thrifting is more than just the price tag.

It’s not just the vintage element, either. Excavating forgotten styles that are practically impossible to find off the rack is a total gas, but there is still something more.

It’s the story. It’s the unique thing that can’t be bought. It’s what you can’t get when you buy something brand new.

I love that these shoes have some strange backstory. I love that I can’t know it, either. I suppose I could reach out to the seller and ask about this discrepancy and try to pry some information. But how boring would that be? Where is the mystery in that? Where is the fun? It’s much better to try to piece it all together the old-school way. A little mystery is fun.

I love finding an old, vintage Brooks Brothers sport coat. One that was made before we landed on the moon. Standing at my closet, looking at the tag that’s been ripped a little. The wearing around the elbows, the name written on the inside pocket. I stand there and wonder who he was. How often did he wear this jacket? Was this a workhorse, or did it wait in a closet most of its life? Is he alive anymore? Maybe not. Probably not. A dead man’s jacket. Now, my jacket.

When you buy something new, the story starts with you. There isn’t really anything human before that point. Even if the piece was handmade, it’s just business. But the presence of some other story — a story you will never know for certain — wrapped up in the piece adds human depth. Some kind of connection with someone else. Even if you never see him, there is something shared. In our inhuman world of throwaway culture, there is something really refreshing about it.

Maintaining and sustaining something feels good. Deep down, in our heart, it feels right. The old jacket that was sewn long before you were born. The tie that’s as old as you are. Keeping those things alive and carrying them through the decades is humanizing. It feels like we are reaching back into time, grabbing something physical, and then bringing it forward into our world today.

Do I know beyond a reasonable doubt that my loafers were worn by a man with a prosthetic leg? No. I will never know for sure. But I think they were, and that’s the story I am sticking to. It makes them unique. It gives them a backstory. It makes them special in a peculiar little way. It makes me love them more. That’s the great thing about thrifting.

Technology's war against the human hand

In the grand arc of human history, there has been an unmistakable shift away from the direct use of our hands.

I don’t think that’s an accident.

The artistry of the written word, once an act of both intellect and muscle memory, has been flattened into an effortless, thoughtless process.

I think it’s the product of a long-standing agenda, one that has unfolded gradually, spanning centuries. The satanic transhumanist movement, led by our technocratic overlords, seeks to sever humanity’s most fundamental connection to the world: the human hand.

A world made by hand

There was a time when human beings relied on their hands for everything. The connection between the mind and the hand was supreme.

We built, farmed, carved, wove, and forged the world around us through direct physical engagement. Our hands weren’t just tools. They were extensions of our intellect, will, and creative spirit.

A sacred cycle

Leonardo da Vinci understood this better than most.

To him, painting was not just an art. It was a science, a direct manifestation of human intellect and soul.

He saw the painter’s process as a sacred cycle: through the eyes, the world enters the mind, and through the hands, the mind translates that knowledge onto canvas. This, for da Vinci, was the highest form of mental discourse, a discipline that fused experience, perspective, and universal knowledge into a tangible reality.

J.G. Vibert's "The Science of Painting" outlines da Vinci's five principles of painting:

La macchina della visione (the mechanics of vision)
Figurare il corpo umano (representing the human body)
Ombre, lumi e colori (shadows, light, and colors)
La prospettiva aerea (aerial perspective)
La mente universale del pittore (the universal mind of the painter)

These principles highlight how deeply the mind-hand connection is embedded in our capacity for creation.

A broken bridge

For da Vinci, the hand was not merely an instrument but an extension of our divine faculties, a bridge between thought and material reality.

But as time has passed, we’ve seen that bridge get dismantled.

The Enlightenment, while expanding intellectual horizons, emphasized the abstract over the tangible. Knowledge became something to be studied rather than experienced.

Then the Industrial Revolution introduced automation, stripping individuals of the necessity to cultivate their hands as tools of creation. The once-intimate bond between thought and touch was diluted. Machines took over the role of shaping the physical world, and the human hand was relegated to monotonous, mechanical tasks.

Despite this, we still maintained some level of engagement with our hands. Writing, for instance, required the physical act of holding a pen, dipping a quill in ink, and forming letters with intention. This preserved a fragment of the mind-hand link.

Digitless digital

But in our present digital era, even this has been taken from us. Now we just tap glass screens with our thumbs. The artistry of the written word, once an act of both intellect and muscle memory, has been flattened into an effortless, thoughtless process.

And now, we stand on the precipice of the final transformation. The rise of brain-computer interfaces — such as Neuralink or Apple Vision — threatens to sever the mind from the hand entirely. Soon, we won’t even type. We will think and the machine will produce the words for us, bypassing our physical selves completely.

This is the ultimate goal of the transhumanist movement: the destruction of the sacred link between mind, body, and soul. Its proponents seek to remove the hand’s divine role in creation, mediation, and interaction with the material world.

A gift from God

The human hand is a gift from God, an instrument of His glory. It allows us to shape reality, our spirits to interface with the physical world. In many ways, our hands are what allow us to exercise our mediation between God and flesh.

Leonardo da Vinci’s vision of art as the ultimate mental discourse stands in direct opposition to this dystopian trajectory. His philosophy teaches us that creation is not merely an intellectual act — it is an embodied one. The hands must engage with the world for the mind to fully realize its potential. Without them, thought remains inert, unfulfilled, trapped in abstraction.

To take away the use of the hand is to take away one of our last connections to the divine. It is to turn us into passive consumers of experience rather than active participants in creation. It is to weaken our ability to interact with the world in the way God intended.

If we are to resist this transformation, we must reclaim the use of our hands. We must build, write, craft, and create. We must reject the fully automated life and embrace the physical world as something meant to be engaged with, not merely observed.

To keep our connection to God intact, we must keep our hands in motion, not just for the sake of productivity, but for the sake of our humanity itself.

Georgia-made Ioniq 5 is the right EV for the land of the free

Last October, South Korean carmaker Hyundai fired up its brand-new $7.6 billion plant just west of Savannah, Georgia.

The first model to roll off the line? The 2025 version of the popular Ioniq 5 electric SUV.

Hyundai's Georgia plant already pushes out 300,000 cars a year. Thanks to Trump's planned 25% tariff on foreign cars, the company plans to increase capacity to 500,000.

As someone who just had a chance to test-drive one, let me tell you: The move to America has done it a world of good.

For one thing, the 2025 Ioniq 5 is looking a little more rugged these days — that is, if you spring for the new off-road XRT trim, designed for light off-roading.

Also new this year is a Tesla (NACS) charging port. This expands your charging options by something like 17,000 charging stations — good to know whether you're on a cross-country road trip or just taking the kids to soccer.

Hyundai's Georgia plant already pushes out 300,000 cars a year. Thanks to Trump's planned 25% tariff on foreign cars, the company plans to increase capacity to 500,000.

The local demand seems to be there. Last year, the Ioniq 5 was the second-best-selling EV in America not made by Tesla. After some time behind the wheel, I can see why.

Check out my full review below:

Why I stopped arguing with my Trump-hating relatives

It’s 2025, and the United States is the most powerful country in the Western world. If you would like to call it an empire, then it is the most powerful empire in the world. Our presidential elections seem to decide the fate of the world.

We — all of us who vote — hold the fate of the planet in our hands. We live in the most interesting story on earth. We care so much. We follow every development. We are strident and certain, and all we can think about is politics.

Does it really matter if we 'win' one of these fights? We don’t win anything if we mercilessly beat our family over the head with facts and logic.

It’s understandable. It may be rude to say so, but some places don’t matter that much in terms of world history. America does.

If people all over the world seem to have strong opinions about what goes on in the U.S., then why shouldn’t we?

We should. But what do we do about our family?

When you're the family 'racist'

Some of us have families who all vote the same way. Many do not. The brother who calls you a racist. The sister who thinks you are a misogynist. The parents who say, “We don’t understand you any more.” All of this just because you voted for Trump.

Of course, in the face of this, we double down. Why wouldn’t we? We're human, and they are attacking us. Maligning us. Accusing us of being cartoonishly vile because we vote for things they would have voted for just 15 years ago. It often seems like we're only ones with any memory of how normal life was in the past.

And none of this would matter as much if it were random people on the street. But it pains you when it’s your own family. You can’t help but dig your heels in. Not only because you're trying to defend yourself, but also because you know they should understand what you understand.

They are smart. They grew up with you. They raised you. How do they not get it?

Facts and logic to the rescue?

“If I just push back enough, say the right things, and pummel them into the ground with the facts of reality, then I can make them understand.”

That’s what we tell ourselves. And that’s the same thing they tell themselves. But they won’t change, and neither will we. So we battle about the latest culture wars at family dinners. We scream at each other about foreign policy at the holidays. We make snide comments about tax policy just to rile one another up.

It’s all so pointless. Tense relationships and ruined evenings are all that comes of it. That’s it. There really isn’t anything else to gain. They aren’t going to change, and neither will you.

I know all these feelings and situations well. I used to be stuck in them. Not any more.

Love trumps Trump

In 2025, my siblings and their spouses vote just like my wife and I: for the right. Our parents don’t, but that’s okay. They are outnumbered by us kids, and they are basically old-school conservative Democrats anyway, if such a thing even exists any more.

And, of course, it doesn’t really matter, because they are my parents and I love them. And they are good people. Very good people.

I used to get into the same arguments with family members. But one day I just stopped.

I realized that politics don’t really matter when it comes to family. Yes, morality matters. That always matters. There are things that go too far. Things that violate our deep morals. Things that go against nature, and those things might require us to take a very uncomfortable stance, even with the ones we love.

But those things are rare. Most political differences aren’t really about those deep moral issues. We can let most things go with our family. We can choose not to get angry.

Pointless debates

Most of the stuff that starts the arguments isn't even actions that anyone participates in anyway. They are, more often than not, abstract opinions about esoteric issues. Talking points. Hot takes. That’s what we are getting all angry about. Pointless.

Does it really matter if we “win” one of these fights? We don’t win anything if we mercilessly beat our family over the head with facts and logic. It isn’t a victory if everyone goes to bed hating each other. It’s not success if you don’t talk any more because you don’t vote the same way.

Is that defeatist? Maybe. But it’s family. Are you canvassing the family reunion? Are the three votes that you think you might flip at your grandma’s funeral really going to make or break the midterms? Is it really worth it?

Narrator: “He did not, in fact, flip the deciding midterm votes at his grandmother’s funeral, but he did make the rest of the family angry.”

Yes, politics matters. Yes, we live in the most interesting story on earth. Yes, world history is made in our elections. It’s all true, but sometimes some things matter more. Sometimes politics don’t matter.

Especially when it comes to family.

Porsche: As American as apple pie? Trump tariffs might mean move to USA

Are you ready for a made-in-the-USA Porsche?

It could happen. Thanks to President Trump's planned import tariffs, Porsche parent company Volkswagen is considering moving production of some vehicles to its Chattanooga, Tennessee, plant.

Making cars in the states also offers protection from various geopolitical shifts, such as an America-first president finally running the country.

The plant currently makes the gasoline-powered Atlas and Atlas Cross Sport, as well as the ID.4 EV. As with many EVs, sales of the ID.4 are lower than expected, meaning that it might make sense to use that capacity on a different model.

Chattanooga bound?

The German car manufacturer might also move production of some Audi models stateside, either to its Chattanooga plant or its in-development South Carolina plant. That plant, which will manufacture the new line of EV SUVs from Scout Motors, is set to open in 2027.

The tariffs are aimed at vehicles built in Canada, Mexico, and Europe, which leaves Audi and Porsche particularly exposed; neither automaker has ever built a car inside the United States.

Both Porsche and Audi build the majority of their cars in Germany and Hungary, though the Cayenne is built in Slovakia and Audi’s Q5 comes from Mexico.

Years to implement

Any changes to the company’s production plan would take years to implement. Any new vehicles added to the production schedule, particularly Porsches, would require adding significant investment to the facility. This would be good for the state of Tennessee and jobs.

There isn’t any word yet as to which Audi or Porsche models could be moved to the Chattanooga assembly plant.

911 stays home

The performance models will likely stay put. Most 911 buyers will probably bite the bullet and pay an additional 25% import tax to get that car. As for Audi, its top-selling Q3 plus the popular Q5 and newer electric models could be built here.

It's important to remember that a tariff is an import tax paid by the importer and usually passed along to the end consumer. The goal of the tariff is not to increase prices but to motivate manufacturers to build their products in the country they’re selling to.

This is standard operating procedure for many countries, especially our top competitor, China.

And history shows it pays to build in America.

BMW's American dream

Take the example of BMW, which started producing all of its global SUVs in Spartanburg, South Carolina, 30 years ago. It's now the automaker's biggest production facility in the world, and BMW is the largest employer in the state.

Making cars in the states also offers protection from various geopolitical shifts, such as an America-first president finally running the country.

BMW is not the only European car company building in the U.S. Volvo also produces many of its vehicles South Carolina. Mercedes-Benz produces vehicles for the American market in Alabama.

Here's hoping other carmakers follow suit. We'll be watching.

Out of juice: Only 5% of US car buyers want an electric vehicle

Electric vehicles and the American driver: a match made in heaven. At least, that's the story Democrats have been telling for a while.

In reality, sparks are definitely not flying.

Deloitte suspects that some of this push against EVs 'could be due, in part, to lingering affordability concerns.'

In fact, only 5% of U.S. consumers want their next car to be an EV, according to a new survey from Deloitte — with almost two-thirds explicitly stating their preference for an internal combustion engine (ICE).

The consulting company gathered data from more than 31,000 people across 30 countries as part of its 2025 Global Automotive Consumer Study. It makes for some interesting comparisons — especially when it comes to powertrains, connectivity, and artificial intelligence.

Among U.S. consumers, ICE remains number one, with 62% indicating that their next car will not be electrified. Another 20% would like a hybrid for their next vehicle, with a further 6% desiring a plug-in hybrid.

By contrast, only 38% of Chinese consumers want to stick with ICE; meanwhile, 27% of them intend for their next automotive purchase to be a battery electric vehicle (BEV). That's a much higher percentage than in other large nations — in Germany, only 14% want a BEV; in the U.K. and Canada, only 8%; and in Japan, the number is a mere 3%.

Meanwhile, hybrids are far more attractive to consumers in most countries. Sixteen percent of Chinese consumers want hybrids, 12% of Germans, 23% of Canadians, 24% of U.K. consumers, and 35% of Japanese consumers replied that they were looking for a hybrid for their next car.

Deloitte suspects that some of this push against EVs "could be due, in part, to lingering affordability concerns." U.S. consumers said they did not want to pay more than $35,000 for their next car.

Interestingly, the price of an EV was not a major sticking point for Chinese or Korean consumers. Cold-weather performance (including temperature-related range reduction) ranked higher, with 37% of Chinese consumers and 38% of Korean consumers considering it an issue.

Range also proved important to American consumers surveyed. Forty-nine percent said it concerned them, while 46% worried about charging times. U.K. drivers were slightly more concerned about range (52%) than price, with similar results in Germany (54% range).

Deloitte also surveyed consumers about their reasons for wanting or not wanting an EV.

In the U.S., saving money on fuel costs came in at number one. A common reason cited for avoiding an EV was concern over the state of the public charging infrastructure.