Max, Unfiltered: Finishing the Hat

The takeaway from our Afghanistan episode was that we would forget.

And we did. Because we always do.

Or we get it wrong. Like the apocryphal tales both sides tell of the Clinton years.

How we blame the wrong actors for inflation.

It’s Biden. It’s Putin. Democrats.

Kelloggs, Unilever. Or maybe it’s Amazon?

And speaking of, we celebrate Jeff Bezos flying to the moon, rather than the earthly deeds of Christian Smalls.

As we speak, the Fed’s trying to tame inflation and force us into a recession.

But unemployment is extremely low. They’re not correlated… But they used to be.

Nothing’s correlated anymore. It doesn’t matter.

Boom and bust times are the same at the bottom of the ladder.

As we head into a brief hiatus, there’s so much swirling around in my head.

Like the IPCC 1.5 degree target slipping away. Direct child payments. American exceptionalism versus Sinocentrism. The fate of The Dreamers. Taxing the wealthiest among us.

But Manchin…

We’ll see. That story is just being written. There’s a lot to love about what’s on the table right now. Perhaps the best thing is the name. They finally figured it out.

The Inflation Reduction Act of 2022.

Taking a page from Republicans and wrapping a bill in a title that actually means something to people, even if it has little to do with the intent of the bill. Well done. Whether it passes and goes far enough to make a difference remains to be seen.

Is it filibuster proof? What about Sinema?

TBD. Right here. Right now. I’m choosing to be optimistic.

And what of the January 6 commission? One thing is clear, and no matter where one falls on the political spectrum, what transpired should be self evident. A President of the United States attempted to overthrow the government on his way out the door. It was a coup.

Will he be prosecuted? See the inside of a prison cell?

That’s above my pay grade, but here’s what I do know. Breadcrumbs for would-be dictators have been sprinkled all throughout the Capitol and we’ll never again be allowed to claim, “Oh, that’ll never happen.”

Remember the school shooting?

Parkland? Sandy Hook?

Uvalde. And yes. Were those Bushmaster XMs or AR-15s?

Wait. Is there a difference?

Between the guns, or the shootings?

What if 38 states call a Constitutional Convention?

Do they need that many? Will that give all our rights away to the states?

I think they already did that.

For the right to bear arms?

No, to bear life.

You mean to end it.

I’m confused.

When the penumbra is extinguished must we revert to originalism in all ways? Do we abide by the words of the founders or the bible?

Is there a difference? Isn’t Christianity a leftist ideology?

Why is it always referred to as the Christian right?

There must be middle ground.

Elon will save us. He’s buying Twitter.

Actually…

Did you know there are dozens of books about Elon Musk?

But he didn’t invent anything.

We should build a monument to him.

Or a stadium.

I know who could get the financing done.

This is all inside baseball for Unf*ckers. Shorthand for the issues we cover. It’s amazing how far we’ve come together.

Two years ago, I sat alone on the beach on a vacation at the height of COVID listening to Brian Koppelman on the Knowledge Project Podcast talking about the writing process and how he’s followed The Artist’s Way method for years. It’s a well-known book in the creative community. One of the concepts is to wake up each morning and just write. It’s called “Morning Pages.” Letting the subconscious work its way onto the page and exercising the writing muscle; something I hadn’t done for a few years. And so, I started the very next morning. And I haven’t stopped.

By the end of the vacation, I had mapped out Unf*cking the Republic. Four months later, we dropped our first teaser episode. Two months after that, we began in earnest. And here we are together. At some point during this vacation, I will be back on that same beach. Very likely at the precise moment that UNFTR will pass one million downloads.

Scores of episodes debunking neoliberal shibboleths.

Thousands of emails and messages from listeners encouraging us, challenging us and taking this journey with us.

And countless hours of research, writing, editing, thinking.

Making a hat.

Where there never was a hat.

I’m excited to let this milestone quietly pass as I contemplate the burning questions of the day. But I’ll also be forcing myself to think of other things as well. To open my eyes, my ears and my heart to what’s happening around me.

For two straight years, I’ve been consumed with finishing the hat. But it’s time to put the canvas down. Pick my head up. And the truth is, this painting will never be done. America is an ever expanding canvas, and I’m humbled that you’ve allowed me to paint one tiny little corner of it.

In the meantime, I wanted to leave you with words written to me more than 30 years ago, though I only saw them for the first time this week. Unf*ckers know that I lost my person a couple months ago. My mom. It’s part of life, and in her case, it was the culmination of decades of illness. Going through some of her things for the first time, my father found letters she wrote to each of us the first time the doctors told her she didn’t have much time to live. Something they got wrong for three decades, until they finally got it right.

She finished the letter with these words:

“I love you…and I thank you for helping me to realize true motherly love. My love will surround you no matter what happens or how much time passes. I hope you find your one true love and live and grow together as your father and I have.”

I was lucky enough to have fulfilled this wish despite not having the benefit of seeing it until now. It’s why I struggled to pull my words together this week. I’ll be back soon to continue working on the hat. But for now, it’s time to take a stroll in the park with the people I love.

Here endeth this season. Here we begin anew.