Self-Sorting

 

An interesting phenomenon taking place in the U.S. today is how the electorate is self-sorting, and one way to look at this is to examine how counties vote. There are roughly 3,100 counties, and they are interesting because their boundaries do not change.

Consider: in 1980, only 391 counties (12.5 %) were won by a landslide, meaning by more than 20%. By 2024, the percentage won by a landslide increased to 80.2%. In other words, we are self-sorting, red versus blue, into the places we live. The folks who study this phenomenon say it reflects “educational polarization.” People with college degrees tend to cluster in large city suburbs and college towns on either the East or West coast, and they tend to vote Democrat. Working-class people cluster in the South and Midwest and tend to vote Republican.

One way to predict how a county will vote in presidential elections is to determine if it is a Whole Foods county or a Cracker Barrel county. Counties where a Whole Foods Market is present tend to vote for the Democratic candidate, while counties with a Cracker Barrel franchise tend to vote Republican. In 2020, Joe Biden won 85% of Whole Foods counties and 31% of Cracker Barrel counties. In 2024, Donald Trump won 22% of Whole Foods and 74% of Cracker Barrel. (See the table below.)

This idea of self-sorting troubled me. One night this past weekend, I fell into a restless sleep, and my father came to me in a dream. He looked pretty good for a man who passed in 1958 and would have been 132 years old this year. I brought him up to date on the family news, but then his brow furrowed and he grew very serious.

“Charlie, something is bothering me,” he said. “Is it true you live in a Whole Foods county?”

“Yeah, Dad, it’s right down the street, though I didn’t know that when I bought the place.”

“Son, you know we are Cracker Barrel people. Working class through and through. Remember the lesson I taught you—a working man only has two things going for him, his union and the Democratic party.”

“But, Dad, you don’t understand. People in Whole Foods counties tend to vote Democrat, and people in Cracker Barrel counties typically vote Republican.”

“What?! How the heck did that happen? Whole Foods Democrats and Cracker Barrel Republicans? It makes no sense to me.”

“Well, sorry to say this, Dad, but it turns out the working-class folks switched sides. They felt abandoned by the Democrats.”

“That’s a bitter pill! I was a twenty-year Navy vet and a proud union member, Boilermakers’ local, AFL-CIO. Never crossed a picket line and never voted for a Republican in my lifetime.”

I tried to change the subject and cheer him up a little. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it’s hard to find a Made in the U.S.A. label on anything these days. The shipyards are gone, as are the steel mills, and the domestic car companies teeter on the brink. And I certainly wasn’t going to tell him I’ve been driving Hondas for years now.

I let him fade away, shaking his head over the idea of Cracker Barrel Republicans. Deep in the background of my dream, Bob Dylan was singing, “The Times They Are A-Changin’.”

 

 _____

 

 

 Whiplash and the Cage

 

As the resolution of the Iran war alternates between announcements that a deal is imminent and threats of massive bombardment against Iranian targets, Kristen Welker, the host of “Meet the Press,” sat down with Secretary of State Marco Rubio for a candid interview.

Welker: Thank you for being with us today, Secretary Rubio. There are reports that many cabinet members are suffering from what is being called “bilateral spiral whiplash,” caused by twisting their necks from right to left, again and again, as the president’s position changes.

Rubio: That is not true, Kristen. A perfect example of fake news.

Welker: Uh…sir, why are you wearing that neck brace?

Rubio: A simple accident at home. It has nothing to do with Iran.

Welker: Ooookay. Sir, I understand there are new initiatives underway to bring a close to the conflict.

Rubio: That’s true, Kristen. We decided to put the question to a committee of AI platforms, including ChatGPT, Claude, Gemini, and Grok. We asked this committee to weigh the administration’s position on a settlement versus that of the Iranian side.

Welker: Very interesting. And what did the committee decide?

Rubio: Unfortunately, there was no consensus. In fact, the exchange between the participating AI’s became so heated that it caused three data centers to melt down.

Welker: Yes, we heard about the data centers, but not the cause. This is breaking news, Secretary Rubio. In view of the AI meltdowns, where do you go from here?

Rubio: We decided to take the humanist approach. We put the question to a panel of three wise men.

Welker: Hmmm…that has biblical overtones. And who are the three wise men?

Rubio: At the president’s direction, we selected Elon Musk, Joe Rogan, and Spike Lee.

Welker: Oh my! That’s quite a group, Mr. Secretary. May I ask why Spike Lee?

Rubio: Well, as you know, both Mr. Lee and the president are avid Knicks fans. It’s a New York thing.

Welker: And what did this august panel recommend?

Rubio: It’s an interesting solution, Kristen. The cage that has been erected on the White House lawn will remain in place after Sunday’s UFC match. At a date to be determined, President Trump and Ayatollah Mojtaba Khamenei will meet in a winner-take-all match.

Welker: Winner-take-all?

Rubio: Yes. If President Trump wins, the U.S. position will be implemented, point for point.

Welker: And if the Ayatollah wins?

Rubio: Again, point for point on their side, including lifting of sanctions and unfreezing their financial assets.

Welker: You realize the president will be eighty years old.

Rubio: Ha! The president says, "Khamenei can't carry my jockstrap."

Welker: And what about the Strait of Hormuz?

Rubio: No matter who wins, the Strait will be open to international traffic under the management of a consortium headed by Jared Kushner and Mohammed bin Salman. There will be a reasonable toll for passage, of course, with the revenue split equally between the U.S. and Iran.

Welker: Mr. Secretary, what about the critical issue of the highly enriched uranium? What happens to all that weapons-grade material?

Rubio: If the president wins, it will be shipped to the major population centers in California—Los Angeles, San Francisco, and San Diego. It will be Gavin Newsom's—or his successor’s—problem to deal with.

Welker: And if the Ayatollah wins?

Rubio: Yes…well…uh…

Welker: Mr. Secretary?

Rubio: If he wins, the material will be shipped to Mar-a-Lago and stored in the bathroom and other empty spaces where the documents President Trump removed from the White House were kept.

Welker: Three wise men, indeed! Will Spike Lee write the script and direct the movie?

Rubio: Now you’re just being unpleasant, Kristen.

The conversation continued. I switched channels, hoping for some World Cup action. Go U.S.A.! 

_____

 

 

 

 

 THE SNAKE

 

Imagine if you will, late October 2027. The campaign for president has shifted into high gear, with candidates from the major parties and several minor ones fighting for position. And yet, President Donald J. Trump has not endorsed someone to succeed him. The two leading contenders are Vice President J.D. Vance and Secretary of State Marco Rubio, both lobbying furiously for the coveted endorsement.

Now the president has come up with a scheme to decide the issue. Each candidate will audition in the Oval Office by reciting the president’s favorite poem: “The Snake.” Trump’s reading of the poem was a favorite feature of his campaign rallies, and his base loved it, roaring approval on every occasion. And so, his endorsement, and perhaps the fate of the free world, hinges on the competitive recitation of a hitherto obscure poem.

In the ornate office of the Secretary of State, Marco Rubio meets with his chief aide, Jasper “Jaz” Dinwiddie…

“Jaz, you’ve got to be kidding me! We’re going to have a competition over who can best recite 'The Snake'?"

“I kid you not, sir. Now, let's get to it. We don’t have much time to prepare. Let’s take it from the top.”

“Ah, geez…” Rubio mumbles. “Okay, here goes…

On her way to work one morning / Down the path ‘longside the lake

A tender-hearted woman saw a poor half-frozen snake…

“Wait, wait…hold it, Mr. Secretary.”

“What? What is it, Jaz?”

“That just won’t do, sir. You sound like—no offense—Little Marco. You need to read it like Trump reads it.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this, Jaz.” Rubio shakes his head.

“Pick it up with the fourth line…with more conviction, a lot more umph, okay?”

Rubio takes a deep breath…

His pretty colored skin had been all frosted with the dew

Oh well, she cried, I’ll take you in and I’ll take care of you…

“Better, sir, much better!” Jaz cries.

 

We switch now to the residence of Vice President J.D. Vance, where his wife Usha is mentoring his practice session. The vice president recites…

Take me in, tender woman / Take me in, for heaven’s sake

Take me in, tender woman, sighed the snake…

“Okay, J.D., hold it right there. Do you want his endorsement or not? You’re reading it like you are the tender-hearted woman. You have to read it like the snake!”

“Ohmygod, Usha! This is humiliating. It insults my intelligence. I’m a graduate of Ohio State University and Yale Law. Peter Thiel is on my speed dial—”

“None of that matters, J.D. Now, start with the third stanza, and try to sound like the damn snake!”

Vance wipes perspiration from his brow and begins…

She clutched him to her bosom, You’re so beautiful, she cried

But if I hadn’t brought you in, by now you might have died…

The vice president’s wife sighs loudly. “This is starting to feel like Mission: Impossible, J.D.”

 

Finally, the day of the audition arrives. Rubio and Vance sit in the small foyer just outside the Oval Office, waiting to be called in. They glance at one another, but neither speaks. And then a well-rehearsed, booming voice is heard from within…

Oh shut up, silly woman, said the reptile with a grin

YOU KNEW DAMN WELL I WAS A SNAKE BEFORE YOU TOOK ME IN!

The sound of applause is heard, followed by murmured congratulations. Vance and Rubio look at each other in shock and disbelief. The door to the Oval opens and Secretary of War Pete Hegseth steps out of the office. He looks at Vance and Rubio and grins.

“Let’s see you top that…losers!” Hegseth struts away, leaving his fellow cabinet members dumbstruck.

Stephen Miller appears in the office doorway, holding a gold Trump meme coin. “Okay, Marco, J.D., let’s flip a coin to see who goes next. J.D., call it in the air.”

The gold coin ascends toward the ceiling, turning over and over, glinting in the light.

_____

 

 CHAPTER AND VERSE

 

A video conference on a highly secure line has been scheduled between Washington D.C. and Hollywood. Quentin Tarantino waits patiently in his office, glancing at his Rolex. The screen in front of him flickers, and Secretary of War Peter B. Hegseth comes into focus.

“Mr. Tarantino! Good to see you. How are things in California?”

“Just fine, Mr. Secretary. I must admit, I didn’t believe it was you calling until you popped up on my screen. What can I do for you, sir?”

“I’ll cut right to the chase. Perhaps you saw reports of the prayer I offered the other day at the Pentagon prayer service, quoting your interpretation of the Book of Ezekiel.”

“Yes, I did. And thank you for that. Pulp Fiction is now trending around the world, and the movie is number one on all the streaming services. It’s a hot property again, three decades after it was released.”

“And rightly so, Quentin. Do you mind if I call you Quentin? Your take on holy scripture is absolutely brilliant!”

“Uh…I hope you realize that I wasn’t quoting scripture, Pete. Do you mind if I call you Pete? All that stuff about ‘brother’s keeper’ and ‘finder of lost children’ just came off the top of my head. The only biblical quote was the last line, about laying vengeance upon thee, from Ezekiel 25:17.”

“Look at you, Quentin, quoting chapter and verse. I love it! And I want more, more material from scripture that I can use in future prayer services.”

“Let me get this straight, Pete. You want more from the Gospel According to Tarantino?”

“Exactly! There must be lots of good stuff out there that fires up the Warrior Ethos.”

“Well…if I recall from my research, the story of the flood and Noah’s Ark is rich with references to God’s wrath.”

“God’s wrath, that’s what I’m looking for.”

“And there’s the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, Lot’s wife being turned into a pillar of salt.”

“Great! I could cast Nancy Pelosi as Lot’s wife.”

“But the strongest passages are in Deuteronomy 25:19, and especially 1 Samuel 15:3, where God decrees against the Amalekites.”

“Perfect! Just what I’m looking for, Quentin. I can make the Iranians the Amalekites.”

“Your call, Pete. Grab your bible and find those passages—”

“My what?”

“Your bible.”

“Oh. I’ll have my aide look ’em up. Now, do you think you can write some prayer material for me, based on the references you just cited?”

“Sure, I can do that. Things are a little slow right now. We’re between projects.”

“Great! Let’s settle on compensation, then I’ll overnight a contract to you, along with an iron-clad non-disclosure agreement.”

“Why the NDA, Pete?”

“Because we never had this conversation.”

“What conversation?”

The two men share a hearty laugh. It’s time to talk dollars and cents.

_____

  

 

INJURY ATTORNEYS

 

I met my friend Marty for coffee the other day. I knew he’d been in an accident, but I was shocked to see him enter our local Starbucks on crutches with a very large brace on his right knee. Our conversation went like this:

“Ohmygod, Marty! I had no idea it was this bad. How are you doing, buddy?”

“Not so good, Chuck. And now I have to battle the insurance company. The settlement they’re offering isn’t fair. What a hassle!”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to hire one of those injury attorney firms, you know, the ones that tout the really big settlements on TV.”

“Oh, yeah? Which firm are you considering?”

“Well, there’s Morgan & Morgan. I like their ads. They’re not afraid to be funny. They say they are the biggest, and size matters. Wink, wink.”

“Okay, humor is good.”

“But then, there’s Easton & Easton.” Marty’s face brightened. “They say, ‘Let our family help yours.’ I like that.”

“Sure, family is important.”

“And, there’s Larry H. Parker…looks like another family firm, though Larry H. doesn’t look so good in the ads. Know what I mean?”

“Hmmm…good health is important.”

“I also kind of like this guy, Sweet James.” Marty’s enthusiasm spiked. “He’s really quirky, and quirky can be effective in the courtroom. Am I right?”

“I suppose quirky has its place.”

“But who names their baby boy ‘Sweet’? I mean, maybe that’s a little too quirky.”

“Maybe it’s a partnership, you know, ‘Sweet & James’?”

Marty scratched his head. “I also like those two guys, The Law Brothers. I like the idea of two young dudes, hungry to establish themselves, fighting for me.”

“Young dudes could be good.”

“And then there’s Jacoby & Meyers. They’ve been around forever. Maybe the first guys to advertise on TV. Am I right?”

“Longevity is a good sign.”

“Here’s another one—The Barnes Firm. I really like their jingle. ‘The Barnes Firm/Injury attorneys/Call 1-800 eight million.’ Clever, eh? Implies they’ll win eight million for you.”

“So, Marty, what’s it gonna be?”

“I don’t know, Chuck. I just can’t make up my mind.”

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’m writing all the names on slips of paper, we’ll put them in my cap, and you’ll draw the winner… There, everybody is in the cap… I’ll shake it up… okay, now draw.”

“Thanks, Chuck, this is a big help… Okay, here it is. It’s Easton & Easton. But wait a minute! They say when they take your case, you become part of their family. Does this mean I’ll be invited to Thanksgiving dinner? With all their clients, it would have to be in, like, a convention center. That would be a little weird.”

“Just make the call, Marty. We’ll worry about Thanksgiving later.”

And just like that, Marty joined the Easton family. I'll let you know how it turns out.

_____

  

 THE SPOTLESS MIND

 

Ira Sharp sits in the exam room, waiting for the doctor to arrive. There is a tap on the door and his primary care physician enters the room.

“Mr. Sharp! It’s good to see you, sir.” Dr. Young extends his hand.

“Oh…hi, doc. I was expecting Dr. Johnson.”

“He retired three years ago, Mr. Sharp. I’m Dr. Horace Young, your PCP.”

“So, old Johnson retired, that son of a gun. Anyway, nice to meet you.”

“Uh…this is the second time I’ve seen you, Mr. Sharp. Let’s see…the last time was six months ago.”

“If you say so. Hey, you know these gowns are a pain in the neck. It’s really hard to tie them in the back. They should have Velcro, know what I mean?”

“I’ll make a note of it.”

“I mean, I can put my underwear on standing up, but I have a heck of a time with these dang ties.”

Dr. Young studies a large, flat-screen monitor. “Let’s see…your lab results all look good, blood pressure is normal. Let me listen to your chest here with my stethoscope.”

“Hey, that thing is cold!”

“Sorry ’bout that.” He completes his examination. “So, Mr. Sharp, what brings you in today? Anything specific you want me to check?”

“Yeah, doc, there is. I want you to give me one of those cognitive exams, you know, like President Trump takes.”

“Oh, really? Why is that, Mr. Sharp?”

“My friends are giving me a hard time, tellin’ me I’m full of you-know-what. I want to take that exam to show them I’m a genius, just like the president.”

“Sir, that’s really not the purpose of a cognitive exam—”

“I know the president took it three times, aced it every time. Do you think I’d have to take it three times, doc?”

“Hmm… have you been having any symptoms, Mr. Sharp? Any memory loss?”

“Will I have to read something when I take the test? I think I left my glasses at home.”

“They're up on your forehead, Mr. Sharp.”

“Oh yeah. Thanks, doc.”

“Now, about the test—”

“What test?”

“The cognitive exam you were asking about.”

“Oh, that reminds me. I want you to give me one of those cognitive tests, you know, like President Trump.”

“Oh boy…” Dr. Young sighs, shakes his head, and types a note into the medical record...

Robust, healthy octogenarian presents, requesting a cognitive exam to certify his genius to skeptical friends. This is the third such request I’ve had this week. MACA…Make America Cognitive Again.

_____

 

 

 STATEMENT

The door to a small, private room at Mar-a-Lago opens, and three top aides to President Donald Trump enter. Present are Susie Wiles, Stephen Miller, and Karoline Leavitt. They gather around a small, round table and drop notebooks on the polished oak surface. Wiles opens the meeting.

“Okay, so we just received word that Robert Mueller died.” She scribbles a note on her legal pad. “Our job is to craft a statement for the president, and we’ve got to do it quickly. The more time that passes, the more pressure he's going to be under. What should the president’s statement be?”

Miller scoffs, “Why say anything? Old dude, had Parkinson’s, so he died.”

“Come on, Stephen, we’ve got to have a statement. Dignified, if possible. What do we know about him, other than his time as Special Counsel and the Mueller Report?”

“Let’s see,” Leavitt says, “he served four years in the Marine Corps, beginning in 1968, including service in Vietnam, where he earned the Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. He graduated from NYU, graduated from University of Virginia Law, served as a prosecutor, including a case against John Gotti. Served as FBI Director for twelve years, beginning in 2001 and through the September 11 attacks, and he’s credited with establishing the FBI as an effective counter-terrorist organization. In 2017, he was appointed Special Counsel to investigate Russian interference in the 2016 election.”

“Special Counsel…Russia, Russia, Russia,” Miller says. “That’s all we need to know.”

“How about this,” Leavitt offers, “He spent his entire adult life in service to his country. Our condolences to his family.”

“Or,” Wiles begins, “From his decorated service in the Marine Corps, to his twelve-year tenure as Director of the FBI, Mueller served his country with honor.”

Miller scowls. “POTUS won’t like that.”

“Okay, Stephen, what would you say?” Wiles is a little exasperated.

“How ’bout this: He served in the Marines, he was a lawyer, and he was FBI Director. RIP.”

“That’s a little terse, don’t you think?” Leavitt is clearly uncomfortable.

“What if we combine Karoline’s and mine?” Wiles says. “How about, ‘From his decorated service in the Marine Corps, to his dedication to the rule of law, to his transformative service as FBI Director, Robert Mueller spent his entire adult life in service to his country. Our sincere condolences to his family.’”

There is a knock on the door and Wiles goes to open it. An aide, standing in the hall, hands her a note. She returns to the table.

“The president has already released a statement…on Truth Social.” She pauses and looks at her colleagues. “It says, 

Robert Mueller just died. Good, I’m glad he’s dead. He can no longer hurt innocent people!

Silence fills the room for several seconds. Miller breaks it.

“Okay, so that’s that. I’m going back to my room, maybe take a nap.”

“Me too,” Wiles adds.

“Wait a minute!” Leavitt shouts. “What about me? I’m going to have to face the press corps. What am I gonna say about this…this…this statement?”

“You’ll figure it out, kid,” Wiles says. “Do what you usually do. Blame it on James Comey and Joe Biden.”

Wiles and Miller leave the room while Leavitt searches for a waste basket to vomit into.

_____